


Cookies, coffee and shut the fucupcakes

by DropsOfAddiction



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Boys In Love, Coffee Shops, Come Marking, Coming Untouched, Deputy Derek Hale, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Has a Big Dick, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski UST, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Hairy Derek Hale, Idiots in Love, Jealous Derek Hale, Jealous Stiles Stilinski, Kid Fic, Licking, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Morning Sex, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Protective Derek Hale, Rimming, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Sex, Stiles Stilinski's Scent, Top Derek Hale, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Top Stiles Stilinski, but with a twist!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfAddiction/pseuds/DropsOfAddiction
Summary: “Ok. I’ve got a few shirts with me because I came here straight from work, but I think it’s going to be a tight fit. I know I’m not as skinny as I used to be but I’m not exactly the same hunky physique as you, oh grand macho werewolf,” Stiles shrugs.Derek runs his eyes blatantly over Stiles’ chest.“I’m not so sure about that,” Derek mutters, and he slams his mouth shut, teeth audibly clacking together, as if he really hadn’t meant to say that out loud.Stiles flushes but he heads upstairs to grab Derek a spare dark shirt. When he gets back to the kitchen, Derek’s already shed his dirty shirt and he’s helping himself to Stiles’ half empty mug of coffee, neck thrown back as he drinks.Stiles literally looks to the heavens because he must have done something really good in a past life to be awarded with the sight of Derek Hale’s naked, very firm, slightly hairy torso parading around his dad’s kitchen before eleven in the morning.Drinking his coffee. Stiles’ mouth had just been on that mug. Right where Derek’s mouth is.By elementary school rules of dating (ie sharing a bottle, your mouth touching where someone else’s mouth was just touching, sharing cooties) they’re now married.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 175
Kudos: 2117
Collections: Scmoop, Teen wolf





	Cookies, coffee and shut the fucupcakes

**Author's Note:**

> Dunk my donut, I’m finally done...
> 
> I’ve taken a million and five liberties with all procedures, areas etc, I make it up, my head’s a strange place. I don’t know what to tell you, leave me be you hounds.
> 
> Please don’t post this anywhere but here. Just borrowing the teen wolf characters.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one, if you’re still here with me... ❤️

Stiles Stilinski hasn’t set foot in Beacon Hills for nearly a whole year, so of course, within the first five minutes of him arriving inside the town limits he bumps into someone he didn’t expect to see.

He’s standing stoically in a short queue, waiting to be served at Beacon Hills’ pretty much one and only decent, non-chain coffee establishment. 

“Sip me baby one more time” used to be his ‘go to’ coffee place for his caffeine fix back in the day, back when he was a Beacon Hills regular, so he was as psyched as psyched could be about finding the shop still open.

He’s even more pumped now that he’s actually in line and soundly on his way to getting his coffee buzz on, grinding noises surrounding him and rich smells permeating his sluggish consciousness. 

It’s just all so comforting, especially as he feels half dead on his feet.

His head occasionally lolls precariously, dipping dangerously toward his comfy looking shoulder trying to sneak itself a little rest, until it nods a nod too far. He jerks and shuffles from foot to foot, trying to wake himself up a little and he runs a hand through his messy brown hair.

Standing napping is one of his skills. It’s listed under his hobbies section on his CV and everything, right under “Badass mofo with a baseball bat”.

He had been driving for most of the night, not wanting to stop to sleep- he’s seen one too many crime scene photos from homicide cases involving lone young men and shady interstate motels thank you very much- so he’s pretty much running on sugar and sarcasm at this point.

He’s not stupid enough to drive on empty either, so he’s been hitting up all the drive through coffee places he passed to keep him going but it’s been a good three hours since his last fix.

He’d checked the clock on his dash as he’d passed the sign welcoming him into his home town and he’d noted he had around an hour before his dad came off his night shift. 

He had really wanted to make it to the house in time to surprise him, another reason why he’d been hesitant to stop on the drive. It’s not every day your pop’s is fifty years old after all.

Realising he had a little time, he’d nearly taken out a parking meter in his haste to pull over when he clocked the bright pink sign of the coffee shop beckoning to him like an oasis, elated it was still going after all these years.

Stiles had rammed the jeep into park, grabbed his reusable cup out of the central holder, his laptop off the passenger seat and he had practically thrown himself through the coffee shop doors.

By the time he’d sprinted to their bathroom for the longest and possibly most satisfying pee of his life, there were only two people in the line in front of him. It still seemed to be taking an eternity to get served.

Stiles peers over the shoulder of the man in front of him to see what the hold up is.

A woman up front is chastising the young server behind the counter, finger pointing and wagging in the poor girl’s face. The girl behind the counter in the orange apron reminds Stiles of Kira for some reason, all fresh faced and unwilling to offend anyone.

”I wanted soy milk young lady. Does this look like soy milk to you?” The woman tuts loudly and she rolls her eyes at Stiles and the man behind her, as if they all need to be involved in this.

“No ma’am. I’m very sorry. I didn’t hear you say soy milk. I’ll remake it for you,” the girl clutches at her apron nervously, eyes downcast.

Stiles likes to pride himself on his subconscious observational skills, countless teenage years spent dealing with an insane amount of werewolf shit-fuckery, followed by a heap of training to become an FBI agent meaning he’s always in some sort of state of constant hyper awareness, unfortunately for his poor ADHD riddled brain.

He never rests... Ross has got nothing on him. Unagi.

So Stiles replays the background conversation he heard but didn’t really listen to, from when the woman was ordering her drink, back in his head. Even though he was doing his standing napping, he is positively sure the woman _didn’t_ ask for soy milk.

He restrains himself from pointing that out. The girl will probably re-make the coffee et voila, everyone’s happy. No need for Stiles to be starting fires here. Or fanning the one already crackling.

He just wants his cup of coffee and to be on his merry way.

“Well, now I’m going to be late for work because of you! It’s not good enough,” the woman (Stiles dubs her Karen in his head for you know, _reasons_ ), slams her cup down hard on the counter, coffee bubbling up through the little plastic hole in the lid.

Of course, Karen doesn’t recycle. 

“I really am sorry. I’ll make you a new one. On the house,” the girl begins to start up the machine again.

Karen then loses her shit.

“Get your manager immediately!” Karen screeches loudly. 

Stiles winces.

“I’m on my own until ten,” the poor girl is beaming red and Stiles can see tears welling up in her eyes.

“Ridiculous. You’ve made me late for work by ruining my drink, I demand compensation for that. Look at this coffee, completely horrendous,” Karen actually wags her stubby finger and this time she pushes her drink aggressively towards the girl.

Stiles watches with a wince as the disposable cup catches the edge of the counter and begins to tip off the side, slow-mo styley.

The poor girl behind the counter tries to grab for it before it hits the floor but it’s no use. 

The cup hits the ground out of sight, lid coming loose and the contents splatter high and wide into the air, covering the girl’s apron and from what Stiles can see, most of the area behind the counter.

It’s spectacular, really. A shitty brown splatter of art that Jackson Pollock himself would be envious of.

The girl bursts into tears at the scene of horror.

“Now look what you’ve done, stupid girl, do they just hire idiots here?” Karen isn’t letting up.

And Stiles is about two minutes over being done with this.

“Hey lady,” Stiles says cheerily and he steps around the guy in front of him, “she apologised to you and she offered you a free drink. That’s obviously not good enough for you, so why don’t you head off to the daylight robbing coffee conglomerate down on the corner of main, hmm? Their coffee is bitter and far too scalding, in fact it would probably suit you perfectly!”

Karen just looks at him, surprise on her hard features. She looks like she’s trying to work out if Stiles is being intentionally offensive, his relaxed and cheery tone at war with his sharp words.

Stiles steps behind the hatch in the counter placing his laptop on the side, manoeuvring himself in front of the girl while nudging her gently out of the way. He proceeds to begin to mop up the mess with some napkins.

The guy waiting behind Karen wisely turns around and heads out of the shop empty handed, sensing Volcano Karen is about to erupt and his self preservation obviously kicking in.

Stiles looks after him, eyes narrowed with jealousy. He always recons he was born without that. Self preservation.

If he’d had it, it would have saved him a butt load of trouble over the years, that’s for sure.

“Who the hell are you to speak to me like that?” Karen’s going a livid red in the face.

“I’m Stiles. Stilinski. As in the Sheriff’s kid? Excellent, by the look on your face, you know him! I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but... well, you know,” Stiles shrugs at her, as if she should get why it’s anything but, “Now Karen, are you going to let the young lady here fix your drink, or are you going to be leaving so that I can order mine?”

Karen grits her teeth at him and Stiles can almost see the steam coming out of her ears, vein in her forehead protruding dangerously.

“I don’t care if you’re the son of the pope young man, you can’t speak to me like that! And why are you calling me Karen? My name is Judy!” Karen continues on, voice reaching dog whistle levels in pitch. 

Stiles gives a bone deep sigh, tired in ways he never knew he could be. 

He just wanted a coffee.

“Look Judy-Karen. I wasn’t going to do this but you kind of just attacked the poor girl with boiling hot coffee, which had _regular_ milk in, the _atrocity_. Which you ordered that way, for the record. That’s by the by. Anyways. I saw you tip it at her. This is a bit awkward and I just _hate_ to bring it up but I’m an FBI agent, so I’m probably going to be a really credible witness when she reports you to local law enforcement for assault on a minor... isn’t that right...” Stiles looks at the girls name badge pinned to her apron, “April...?”

April looks at him wide eyed and he nods at her and smiles reassuringly.

April gives him a weak watery nod in return. 

Stiles is pleased to see she’s stopped crying.

“Excellent. Shall I call the Sheriff then Karen? My pops is on my speed dial so don’t worry, you won’t be kept waiting too long, I know how much you hate being late for work.” Stiles cheerfully plucks his phone out of his pocket.

“I’m never coming here again,” Karen growls but she does stomp toward the front door to Stiles’ delight, “and I’ll leave you the shittiest review ever on your website!”

April seems to gather her courage as Karen hits the threshold.

“We don’t even have a website lady!” April calls out weakly, still standing behind Stiles.

Stiles walks back around to the customer side of the counter when Karen finally slams the door.

“Good comeback kid,” Stiles tells her, “you ok?”

“Yes! Oh my god, thank you so much Sir, you were totally awesome. She comes in at least twice a week and gives us hell for some reason or another,” April says to him and she finishes wadding up the napkins on the floor and throws them in the bin, the last of the spilled coffee absorbed.

“No problem. How dare you call me Sir, I’m only twenty six. Call me Stiles. Hey, does Louisa still work here?” Stiles asks, curious about his old favourite barista.

The girls eyes positively light up.

“Louisa is the owner now, she bought the place a few years back! She’ll be in later today,” April tells him.

“Amazing. Tell her Stiles Stilinski says hi. And when you tell her about Judy-Karen, make sure she knows that I’ll back up your story if she does come back to complain or anything,” Stiles tells April pointedly.

“She’ll believe me anyway, that woman is really horrible to everyone. Thanks again, I really do owe you one. What can I get you? On the house of course,” April says, starting the machine up.

“I’ll have a triple shot, caramel latte please. And don’t skimp on the caramel, Louisa never did so that’s why she was my favourite. I’ve brought my own cup, save the turtles and all that jazz,” Stiles passes it over to her.

April pumps six pumps of caramel into the bottom instead of the standard two and just like that, Stiles has a new favourite barista. He’s fickle like that.

By the time they’re done chatting and April’s made his coffee, Stiles has to abandon the idea of using his laptop to catch up on some work emails and he has to head straight back out, to make sure he’s ahead of his dad. 

Another customer coming in is announced by the tring of the bell above the door, so he bids April goodbye to let her get on with her morning as she takes their order.

April still won’t let him pay for his coffee so he shoves a twenty into the tip jar, trying to sneak away.

April frowns at him and she bags him a cookie to go in retaliation and chases him down with it. 

He doesn’t have any free hands by the time he’s picked up his cup in one hand, laptop in the other, so he grabs the bag between his teeth. April heads back to her customer with a smile and shake of her head.

He shoves open the door enthusiastically with his foot, except it’s a two way, and it swings right back and smacks him right in the face. 

He drops the bag in his mouth with a pained grunt and he flails to grab at it, throwing himself into the door, but it’s yanked open as he does so, the timing positively tragic.

He runs straight into a hard body, right as his cookie bites the dust.

“Dude, my bad!” Stiles exclaims, fumbling to balance his slipping laptop and juggle his refillable takeout coffee cup, all while he nearly knocks the unfortunate person clean off their feet. And Finstock said he couldn’t multi-task. Ha.

Stiles looks down in dismay.

The cookie has hit the floor, he repeats, the cookie has hit the floor.

“Noooo,” Stiles wails at it and he hands the person he’s bumped into his cup without even looking at them and he snatches the bag up off the ground, checking inside it.

“It’s ok! My cookie! My cookie is ok! Thank you baby Jesus...” he cradles it lovingly.

“Stiles?!” the coffee cup holding, bumpee’s voice is oh so familiar.

Stiles looks up comically slowly, already knowing without a shadow of a doubt who that voice belongs to.

“Holy Daddy, Derek Hale!” Stiles exclaims, eyes coming up to meet the man’s face.

Derek’s cheeks flush and Stiles dies a little inside, because he doesn’t mean it _that way_ ; although Derek does still have his impressive artful dark stubble, now a smidge longer than he used to wear it and he has a few, new, little laugh lines around his eyes, both things making him look softer than when Stiles last saw him. 

Derek’s styled black hair looks like it’s imitating something off a very fancy barber shop magazine cover. He can be no more than thirty and Stiles spares a second to think it’s unfair at how much hotter he’s gotten since he last saw him, age only adding to him.

He looks a hundred times better than every muscle daddy porno that Stiles has ever watched in fact, but that’s not the problem.

He doesn’t mean it like that at all because he means it _literally_. Derek is currently grasping a wriggling toddler in his arms, holding it stretched out and away from Stiles, Stiles’ coffee cup clutched in his other hand.

Stiles stares, mouth gaping open at the little girl who has a thick shock of dark hair. 

She blinks at him and immediately grins, two little front bunny baby teeth showing. Holy shit.

“Cookie?” The kid asks him curiously and Stiles just mouths wordlessly at her. 

Derek hands him his cup back and he readjusts the kid on his hip, natural as you like.

“Erm,” Stiles’ brain is not computing, “yes. Well done... cookie. Cookie is fine, thanks for asking kiddo.” 

“Me cookie,” the kid makes grabby hands at him and christ, she looks like Derek. 

She’s got Derek’s eyes.

Stiles let’s his gaze flick between Derek’s and the toddler’s faces, fascinated and he gets stuck on Derek’s; his eyes are still all crazy, swirly misty grey, green, hazel thunder and Stiles cuts himself off right there, because that’s a plainly unnecessarily detailed way to describe Derek’s features, not to mention someone’s features who you feel completely platonically about.

What? He has a very highly developed sense of denial.

The only thing the little pipsqueak is missing is Derek’s beard. She’s literally his miniature.

Stiles opens his mouth to let his every thought come tumbling out, to try to discover what in the ever loving hell is going on but Derek shakes his head at him, eyebrows practically on the ceiling and then he nods pointedly toward the little girl.

Stiles is very fluent in Derek Hale eyebrow speak, despite having not seen him in person for nearly six years.

 _Not right now,_ Derek’s eyebrows are saying.

So Stiles clamps his mouth shut.

“I... need to go...away... now.” Stiles says eloquently.

“Ok.” Derek nods, face carefully blank.

“Cookie!” Mini Derek says.

“Bye then,” Stiles mumbles, feeling unexpectedly awkward and far too warm all of sudden. 

It has nothing to do with the way Derek looks totally at ease with an adorable toddler tucked under one strong hairy arm.

Why is he staring at his arms now? Was he always that tanned and hairy? Stiles needs to move.

Stiles hands over the cookie with a sigh, dragging his eyes away from Derek and the kid squeals in delight.

“Goodbye Stiles.” Derek grunts.

“Buh bye Biles,” the kid mimics clutching the bag in her chubby toddler fist and she grins again, like she knows she’s been really clever.

Derek nudges past a seemingly immobile Stiles and he plonks the kid on her butt on the counter, where April greets them like old friends, fussing over the kid. As if Derek has done this a million times before.

Derek glances back at him as soon as the kid is occupied by April and the expression on his face is unreadable. 

He looks like maybe he’s about to come back and say something, but the kid garbles something at him and grabs his attention again. 

Derek’s face goes soft as he looks toward her, expression tender and patient.

Stiles is _far_ too tired to deal with any of this.

With a weary sigh, he turns his back on them and heads for the jeep wondering what the hell just happened.

—————

The thing is, Stiles hasn’t seen Derek for nearly six years. Not because he hadn’t wanted to keep in touch but because Derek had left Beacon Hills. To Stiles’ knowledge it had been for good. 

After Derek had come back to help deal with the Monroe fiasco at Stiles and Scott’s request, as soon as Derek had determined the immediate danger was over, he’d made it fairly clear he’d be eventually heading to join Cora in South America, much to Stiles’ protests. So sue him, he’d liked having Derek around.

They’d even hung out a few times in the weeks following his return, before Stiles had to go back to Virginia for work and Stiles had remembered feeling increasingly close to Derek at the time. 

Something about absence making the heart grow fonder and all that, something between them was just... easier than it had been before.

They’d stayed up late plenty of evenings, Stiles invading the loft and Derek cooking for them or Stiles ordering them random takeout and they’d argued and fought and laughed and it had been nostalgic and amazing. 

It had been fun.

Stiles had remembered feeling super weird when Derek had brushed too close to him, one of the last times they were together, shoulders touching. Derek’s couch was huge, they had plenty of space. Yet, Derek hadn’t moved away.

He remembers turning his head to find Derek looking at him softly, face illuminated in the glow from the laptop screen they’d been sharing.

Stiles had never been sure that Derek would want the same things he wanted from them, but in that moment Stiles had felt convinced that Derek was about to kiss him. 

Derek’s eyes had lingered on his mouth, face moving closer in the dim light. Stiles remembers closing his eyes and thinking this was it, he was going to get everything he’d wanted since he second he’d met the guy and more, because Derek wasn’t just hot, he was sarcastic, smart, funny. He was kind and _good_ and Stiles didn’t just want him, he wanted to be with him. 

And then, universe be dammed, Stiles’ phone had pinged loudly and they’d broken apart, Derek clearing his throat awkwardly. Derek had sprang to his feet to take their used dishes into the kitchen.

Stiles also recalls the way Derek’s eyes had darkened on his return, when Stiles had announced it was only Lydia texting him about meeting up the following day and the chasm between them felt like it had opened up once more.

Stiles had been severely put out after Derek had just upped and left town the next night, without even saying goodbye to anyone.

Stiles had thought they’d all become closer than that, even if Derek didn’t feel the same way as he did. 

He had clearly been wrong as Derek didn’t even leave him a note.

Stiles remembers sitting on Lydia’s bed after realising Derek had gone, chewing his nails and obsessing over whether to send him an abusive text, then realising he didn’t even have Derek’s phone number. 

So unless he had suddenly developed some sort of psychic ability he wasn’t aware of, he wasn’t going to be able to guess it either.

He remembers asking Lydia could she try to track him down, urge for closure with Derek a lot stronger than he’d expected it to be and feeling a little hysterical about the whole thing. That night had felt like every minute that passed, Derek was getting both literally and metaphorically further and further away from him and the realisation that he would only see him again when Derek wanted it, that had been jarring.

He remembers Lydia stroking his arm to try and get him to calm down and she had tucked him down in her sheets, stroking his head until his heart had stopped pounding. He was grateful for her.

Lydia and him, they’d lasted a whole two months together as a couple after that adrenaline fuelled kiss the night they’d defeated Douglas, and they’d called it quits on their relationship for good around the time Derek and Stiles came back to join in the fight against Monroe. But they would always be close friends. 

It was so strange and awkward when he and Lydia finally got together, like it made perfect sense on paper, but in practice it just didn’t work.

Stiles remembers the first time they’d tried to move past kissing, he’d actually fallen off the bed and Lydia had accidentally head butted him. Twice.

They’d sat there and just laughed hysterically, tampon shoved up his bleeding nostril until Lydia had put game of thrones on her laptop and they’d watched that all night instead. 

In the morning, they’d had a very mature and adult conversation, forced to acknowledge that they were perfect as friends and nothing more.

Stiles should really have known his and Lydia’s romance wasn’t exactly written in the stars right then. Stiles had been a little disappointed but in his heart he knew it was right. He loved Lydia, but he wasn’t _in love_ with Lydia.

She didn’t make his heart pound with anticipation, she didn’t make him want to argue constantly with her, his blood lighting up from the sheer response to her, she didn’t give him fear boners.

Yeah, he was definitely a little broken...

—————

When Derek had upped and left leaving him slightly heartbroken, Stiles had returned to Quantico, occasionally visiting his Pops back in Beacon Hills and assisting Scott and Liam from afar with their hunt for Monroe. 

He fell into an easy routine, one that didn’t include Derek and he only thought about him every night, when he had no distractions, instead of constantly throughout the day.

It got easier.

The search for Monroe had lasted almost a painstaking three years, until finally she’d found them instead, in the end.

Stiles will never forget the relief he felt getting that call on Malia’s twenty third birthday evening. 

“Stiles, I’ve just had the most awesome birthday present.” Malia had growled happily down the line at him, waking him up from sleep.

Malia had come home late from work to the apartment Scott and her shared and she had found Monroe carving her initials into Scott’s chest. 

Monroe had Scott strapped to a chair, rigged up electricity coursing through his body.

Scott later told them that Monroe had shot him up with wolfsbane on the doorstep and told him she was going to leave his body as a warning for the others, who kept coming for her and her followers. A warning especially designed to hurt Stiles.

Stiles had become a real thorn in her side and she’d made it her mission to hurt him as much as possible, but until Scott, she hadn’t managed to get close enough to any of them because they’d been so careful. But this time, they’d thought she wasn’t even in California. They’d made a mistake.

Activity surrounding Monroe had been quiet for a good few months and in hindsight, Stiles knows she was trying to get them to relax their guard a little before she’d made her move on Scott.

Stiles had been using his work to help keep her on the run for those past few months back then, ensuring he’d schedule missions anywhere that they got wind she’d be heading, and thus managing to control her reach, thwarting any plans of getting a foothold anywhere specific.

They couldn’t pin her down, but it meant Monroe had to keep moving, she couldn’t settle.

Stiles’ boss had started to trust him more too, because anywhere that Stiles went, he somehow managed to assist local law enforcement with closing a multitude of unsolved cases, earning him a superb reputation in the bureau despite his young age and meaning he was well respected with PD’s and Sheriff’s departments right across state lines.

He always offers to look over cold cases when he’s in those various towns now, then mainly gives them a nudge in the right direction of the supernatural, helping where he can.

Stiles’ career had become a little like fight club, except it’s more like the first rule of an unofficial FBI supernatural support agent, is you don’t tell anyone that you’re an unofficial FBI supernatural support agent.

It’s not as catchy as the fight club motto, he’s well aware, but it works. 

So people now just know he’s the ‘go to’ guy for weird shit and he’s fine with that, his boss is fine with that and America in general is safer for it. 

Win win win.

Except his interference had basically put a personal target on his own head for Monroe. Which suited him just fine, because as long as she kept trying to come for him, she wasn’t focused on anyone he cared about. So he stayed away from Beacon Hills and she kept making weak moves against him.

One time, Scott once said he thought Monroe was afraid of Stiles and Stiles had laughed at that, because how would she be more afraid of him than of werewolves? Ridiculous.

But he was forced to acknowledge that maybe there was a truth in that with the ferocity of which she came after him towards the end, but she’d not been able to get to Stiles because he was constantly moving, so she’d struck at home in Beacon Hills instead.

But she’d made a big mistake. One thing Monroe never understood was family and pack.

She’d gotten so hell bent torturing Scott for information on where Stiles currently was that she’d missed the pictures all over the apartment of Scott and Malia together, not realising Malia lived there too.

Malia had arrived home with birthday takeout, just as Scott was on the brink of death and she’d torn Monroe’s throat out with her claws without even blinking, still clutching her pizza box and wings in her other hand.

Stiles didn’t lose a wink of sleep that night and Malia, she had eaten her pizza while waiting for the Sheriff, Scott healing at her side.

It certainly made coming home to Beacon Hills a lot easier for Stiles knowing he’s not going to be drawing any unnecessary danger to his friends and family and three years on, he’s managing the trip at least twice a year.

Derek’s always been an unpleasant buzz in the back of his busy brain, thoughts of where he is and what he’s doing popping up to harass him at inconvenient moments, like at 3am when he’s trying to sleep before a big presentation or when he’s in the middle of a gun vs claw fight with a Wendigo, right when Stiles thinks he’s about to die; that’s when the regrets creep in, when he wishes he’d tried harder to find him or to talk to him.

A small part of him had always hoped that one day, they’d meet again and it would be easy and fun. 

They’d catch up, maybe get some beers, possibly end the evening necking outside a bar.

Stiles has small dreams.

Except Derek has put paid to that by arriving back in Beacon Hills without telling any of them, without telling Stiles.

And not only did Stiles not know he was back, Derek’s got a kid that no one knew about.

It hurts Stiles right in the gut to think that Derek didn’t trust any of them with that... didn’t trust _him_ with that.

No matter how they left it before, he didn’t think Derek would treat him so coldly if he ever saw him again, with such indifference.

But alas, here he is.

He bangs his head off the steering wheel of the jeep rubbing his temples to stave off a budding headache, admits defeat and heads for his dad’s house.

—————

The reunion with his dad is anticlimactic to say the least.

Stiles let’s himself into the house and promptly falls asleep face down on the couch, only waking when his dad shakes his shoulder.

“Wake up sleeping beauty,” John says softly to him.

“Eurghhhh,” Stiles grumbles, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

The headache is still there.

“What are you doing here kiddo? I thought you were in Medford all week for a case and couldn’t get away?” His dad nudges him over and sits next to him, pulling him into a warm hug.

“Surprise! Managed to get a couple of weeks vacation time and thought I’d spend it here. I can’t believe you are still calling me kiddo, show me some respect old timer. We solved the case in Medford, I’m finished up there for now. Well. Sort of. Turns out ghouls are a thing after all. Hypothetically, I may have used myself as bait to speed things up a little, draw the little sucker out,” Stiles grinds the heels of his hands against his eyes and he rubs at the bandage sitting out of sight below his t-shirt line.

His dad doesn’t need to know the aforementioned sucker nearly munched his head off. 

He pulls his hand away quickly when his dad’s eyes track the movement.

“Ok. It’s my birthday. I don’t want to hear about you putting yourself in danger or anything supernatural until the clock strikes midnight tonight, you can call it my birthday present. And I’ll be calling you kiddo until you stop eating cereal with your hands out of the box,” John pats Stiles’ legs.

“Well that’s never going to happen. Spoons are overrated. Missed you Pops, so much,” Stiles flops his head back down on the couch cushion and he fiddles with his overnight bag at the side of his leg, “if you want peace of mind as your birthday present, then you won’t want this bottle of sixteen year matured Lagavulin I brought with me then, will you hmm?” 

“Give me that,” John snatches the bottle and admires it, “I missed you too smartass. But Melissa’s been keeping me good company, you know you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Ewww, old people romance,” Stiles moans and pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“Who are you calling old?” John stands and heads to the kitchen, putting the coffee pot on.

“You're literally half a century old today,” Stiles laughs and he yawns, stretching his back out.

His dad pokes his head back round the kitchen door, coffee pot whirring to life in the background.

“You look really tired son,” John tells him shrewdly, “more so than usual.”

“Mmm,” Stiles acknowledges.

“More tired than what an overnight drive should make you look like,” John keeps pushing.

“I’m just working a lot Dad,” Stiles tries to shrug him off.

“I know... and I’m proud of you but you know you could think about reducing the amount of cases you take a little bit, get a life,” John points a spoon at him from the doorway.

“Oh ouch! Straight for the jugular Dad. I have a life thank you very much,” Stiles grouches.

“That’s really great. Good for you. Have you met anyone?” John asks far too casually.

“A few people,” Stiles is starting to feel a little defensive.

“Anyone stuck?” The Sheriff’s raised eyebrows seem to suggest he already knows the answer to that one.

“Why are you asking? I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy Daddio,” Stiles tries to deflect, “I’m an independent man, I don’t need no boo to hold me down.”

“Derek Hale’s back in town,” The Sheriff takes a spectacular nose dive into that little non sequitur. 

Stiles just stares at him in disbelief. When his dad doesn’t even blink, completely unashamed, Stiles shrugs in defeat, trying to feign nonchalance and not meeting his father’s eyes.

“And you knew that already I see,” there is a reason that his dad is Beacon Hills’ longest standing Sheriff.

“I may have bumped into him getting coffee earlier this morning,” Stiles offers, wondering if he just ran full pelt out of the sitting room to avoid this conversation, if it would look weird.

“The kid with him?” John says casually, like it’s no big deal, like that whole little scenario isn’t totally blowing Stiles’ mind.

“Yep... cute little thing,” Stiles replies honestly.

“She sure is. He’s really good with her,” John nods thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t know,” Stiles says and his tone must betray him because his father looks at him shrewdly, “only saw them for like a minute...”

“Did you not stop to catch up?” John asks with a frown.

“Nope. Why would we?” Stiles tries to keep his tone light.

“He could probably use a friend or two. He’s been back here about a month now. Say’s he’s staying this time, settling down. He’s moved back into the loft, I think the building was still empty. And you know he owns it. Plus, I’ve got a vacant deputy position now that Jordan’s moved out to Massachusetts. I actually asked Derek to apply,” John walks back into the kitchen and Stiles can hear him opening the cupboard to get a couple of mugs down.

Stiles knew that Lydia and Jordan were getting serious lately, and the fact that Jordan’s clearly transferred to be near MIT where she teaches bodes well for them. Stiles is pleased for them. He needs to call her, he’s just been so busy.

“Well isn’t that just peachy. Deputy Derek,” Stiles groans, trying to smother himself with a mauve throw cushion.

“Derek is a great guy,” John calls out, “he would make a great deputy.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t a great guy,” Stiles huffs refusing to pull the cushion off his face, “he’s fine. Apart from when he’s not being a non communicative asshole. You’ve changed your tune anyway, I remember you trying to arrest him for murder once!”

“That was before he saved your life, more than once. Plus, in my defence _you_ convinced me he was a murderer. Talk to him,” John says popping his head back in the room, “I think you might be surprised at what he has to say.”

“I think you need to keep your nose out Daddio. Me and Derek, we are nothing even remotely close to friends. We’re not anything in fact. I couldn’t care a donkey’s butt about what he’s up to now. In fact, I’d be happy not to see him at all for the rest of my vacation,” Stiles makes sure his tone doesn’t leave room for argument.

“Ok, suit yourself,” his dad hands him a cup of coffee, “why don’t you get your head down for a few hours in your old room? I changed out the sheets. Melissa’s cooking dinner tonight with Scott’s help, so you might want to get some shut eye before seeing everyone. This one’s decaf by the way.”

Stiles gathers his bags to make the trip upstairs, mug sloshing in his hand.

“Thanks Dad,” Stiles grips his father in a one armed hug, “listen... I love you. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just tired and a little grumpy.”

“I know kiddo,” John releases him and grips his chin examining him, “I’m worried about you... you work too hard.” 

Stiles pokes John in the stomach, laughing when his dad wrestles him into a headlock, forcing him to abandon his bags and spilling half his coffee.

“Wonder where I get that from eh?” Stiles chuckles.

He already feels lighter than he has in months.

—————

Stiles wakes later that day in his old bed to the delicious smell of various spices and melted cheese, and voices coming from downstairs. He stretches out happily and nuzzles into the sheets.

He’d slept better than he’s done in weeks.

He knows Melissa is living with his dad now, has been for about a year. They hadn’t made a big announcement or anything but John seems to get happier and happier every time he speaks to Stiles on the phone.

Stiles is more than happy for them both.

Plus, if Melissa’s going to cook her famous five pepper and guac fajitas, he’d give her his own bed if she asked him too.

He gets up, feeling infinitely better than he did earlier that morning and he stumbles down the hallway to the shower. His headache is even almost gone.

He redresses in a clean t-shirt, one of his soft old FBI training ones and a pair of shorts, finishing his look with some fluffy pink unicorn bed socks that Scott had bought him as a gag gift Christmas last year. 

Joke’s on Scott though, he wears them to death.

He forgoes shoes and leaves his hair damp, opting for casual comfort over style, knowing there will be no one downstairs to dress up for or to impress.

He pads his way down to the dining room where the table is full of both food and people. Melissa and his dad are talking animatedly with Malia and Scott, Liam wedged between them, shoving nacho chips in his mouth.

It’s chaos when they notice Stiles slide in through the doorway, socks perfect for making a skidding entrance on the hardwood floor. Scott pushes Malia out of the way to get to him and squishes him into a huge hug, lifting him clean off the floor.

Malia hands Stiles a glass of cold white wine and he takes his seat with the others as conversation resumes, Liam giving him a grin and a wave.

Melissa gives him a kiss on the cheek and places some fresh chips in front of him and he immediately pulls the bowl away from Scott who tries to steal a handful.

Stiles notices the empty chair next to his dad with a frown, along with Stiles’ old high chair literally the same exact second as the doorbell pings. 

His heart just about stops, protest lodged in his throat.

He glares at his dad.

“Tell me that’s not who I think it is?” Stiles growls.

“What? I ran into him in the grocery store earlier and he didn’t have any plans, so I thought I’d ask him over,” John shrugs, grin on his face.

Lies. So many lies.

“I actually hate you.” Stiles glares.

The doorbell pings again.

“Get the door would you Stiles?” His dad smiles evilly and everyone seems to have their eyes on him.

He throws down his napkin and gets up.

“Fine.” He stomps down the hallway and stops before the front door, breath coming ragged, trying to calm down.

He places his forehead against the cool wood on the inside of the door, needing just a second to compose himself.

He feels his head throb, headache creeping back in and he groans softly.

“What are you doing?” Derek’s muffled tone comes through the wood.

Stiles bangs his forehead on the door, which definitely doesn’t help his headache.

“Just chilling, chargrilling, hip hopping, bee bopping,” he answers.

“I... Look, I can go if this is too weird for you?” Derek’s tone is soft.

Stiles opens the door after a few more seconds and crosses his arms. 

Letting Derek leave was obviously never going to be an option, no matter how awkward he feels.

He’s more awake than when he saw Derek earlier, so this time he allows himself a second to take in the changes apparent about him.

Stiles drags his eyes over him, cataloguing. Derek’s strong thighs are the same, trim waist is still present. 

Stiles let’s his eyes linger on where Derek’s rolled the sleeves of his forest green Henley up, gaze catching on the dark hair running up his arms and poking out at the vee of his neck.

When he finally manages to bring his eyes to Derek’s face, Derek’s gaze is intense.

“You done?” Derek grumps at him, but he doesn’t look all that put out.

“Cookie!” The little girl shrieks at Stiles in greeting, as if that’s his name to her now.

“Hey kiddo. Sorry. You just haven’t changed a bit,” Stiles can feel his face is hot and he gestures at the toddler in Derek’s arms, “apart from you know.”

Derek’s face softens.

“You have. Changed I mean. Your hair is longer. You’re taller too. Stronger,” Derek says quietly, eyes raking over Stiles’ shoulders “except the eyes. Same eyes.”

Stiles swallows and shifts from foot to foot.

“You coming in?” Stiles stands aside to make some room because he can’t take the doorstep UST between them a second longer, he feels like he might combust.

He rubs his temple again. He might have to admit defeat and go search out some Tylenol if the headache persists.

To Stiles’ complete surprise Derek hands him the kid as he steps into the house. Derek drops his baby bag by the door.

“Er... hi...” Stiles shifts the little girl easily, so she’s balanced on his hip, like he saw Derek do at the coffee shop. He wiggles his fingers at her in greeting.

“Her name is Ray,” Derek offers.

“She’s hella cute,” Stiles says despite himself, grinning delightedly when Ray giggles loudly as he lightly tickles her sides and sticks his tongue out at her, “how old is she?”

“Cookie!” Ray pats his cheek.

“She’s two and a bit... hence the limited vocabulary. Huh. Guess she likes you,” Derek says as if the thought baffles him.

Ray tries to get her finger literally into Stiles’ nostril, so he stills her hand gently, pretending to bite on it and making her giggle again.

“Why’s that such a surprise? Many people like me,” Stiles is almost affronted.

“Yeah, well Ray doesn’t like many people. She’s inherited my approach to socialising unfortunately,” Derek smiles as Ray buries her chubby fingers in Stiles’ hair instead and she sniffs at him, rumbling happily in Stiles’ arms, “guess you’re the exception.” 

Stiles frowns at how casually Derek is dropping this huge piece of information on him, like having a baby isn’t this huge thing.

“I’m happy for you Derek. I really am. She’s great,” Stiles says and he tries so hard not to be bitter that Derek didn’t think he was important enough to share this with. 

Judging by Derek’s pinched face, he didn’t quite reach the tone he was going for.

He really does want Derek to find peace and happiness, but he’s just realising he’d kind of always hoped it would be with him. That’s why he’s hurting.

Stiles heads back for the dining room to escape Derek’s frown, taking Ray with him. 

He pulls the high chair over next to his own seat, content to play with Ray so as to avoid conversation with the adults.

Derek takes the seat next to Stiles and pulls his chair closer to him, apparently completely unbothered with Stiles stealing Ray away from him.

Stiles tries not to think about how their thighs are pressed together. Judging by the way Derek keeps side eyeing him, he’s not being very successful.

The others envelop Derek naturally into the conversation and everyone coos over Ray until Stiles decides to feed her himself.

It quickly becomes clear that everyone’s seen Derek at least once already since he’s been back. The fact that no one had called him to tell him Derek was back, makes him feel inexplicably irked. 

Not that he was entitled to know that or anything. It’s not like he’s important to Derek.

He decides to spend his energy teaching Ray how to say his name properly instead and ignores everyone else as they eat.

By the time Stiles takes a bite of his own now cold fajita, Ray has eaten a bunch of mushed mixed vegetables and some yams and she is now yelling “Stile” at the top of her little voice over and over, while smashing her baby spoon on the high chair.

Every bang makes his head hurt worse but he doesn’t care.

“Woo hoo! Good job kid,” Stiles cheers, “Look everyone, we did a thing!”

“Stile!” Ray agrees enthusiastically, spraying orange vegetable remnants everywhere as she sounds out her S’s, frowning at the end of the word. Her little mouth still works, as if she knows she’s missing something off the word and she just can’t quite get it.

Stiles is taken aback when she scrunches up her tiny little face in fury and there’s Derek in her all over again.

He turns alarmed to face the werewolf in question and Derek’s watching them with a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” Stiles says.

“Nothing... you have a little... er...” and instead of finishing his sentence, Derek slowly swipes a thumb over Stiles’ cheek, rubbing a little bit of stray mushed carrot off his skin.

As if that’s a totally normal thing to do, in the middle of a family dinner. Touching someone’s face. _Caressing_ someone’s face.

Stiles sees a few small black veins run up Derek’s wrist where they’re still connected, his thumb still rubbing over his skin, oh so softly. 

Stiles feels his head clear, headache finally gone.

Stiles actually gulps at the look in Derek’s eyes, it’s all heat and fire.

How _dare_ Derek smoulder at him on fajita night. Who does he think he is?

Stiles can’t do this... not when Derek’s got a baby mamma possibly lurking somewhere. 

Not when Derek didn’t even bother to inform him he had a kid!

Stiles gets up abruptly. He bangs his knee on the table and Derek jerks his hand back and his ears go red, as if he forgot himself for a moment.

“Sorry guys, I’m still a little wiped from travelling. I’m going to go for a quick run, burn off my one bite of fajita and call it a night. Boy am I stuffed,” Stiles tells the group, wringing his hands together and patting his tummy. 

It growls loudly, betraying him. He frowns down at it.

Derek stares down as his plate, mouth now tugged down in an unhappy frown.

“You hate running,” his dad calls him out shamelessly.

Stiles glares at him.

“I’ve got a headache?” Stiles tries.

“Not anymore you don’t,” Liam says, mouth full, pointing a fajita at Derek.

“Oh for fu...dgesickles sake. I’m tired, honestly. It’s been a really weird couple of days,” Stiles shrugs and he knows none of them will hear a lie in that.

“Ok bro, we still on for our kart tournament tomorrow?” Scott checks, because, priorities. 

“Sure. I’ve got a bit of work to do first, but I’ll come over afterwards?” Stiles tries to keep his eyes on his best friend.

“Bring chips, I’ve got the dips!” Scott high fives him.

“Night everyone,” Stiles says, trying hard to keep his eyes off Derek.

He does pick up his bitten fajita to take with him.

“Cookie Stile!” Ray chirps and she waves her chubby hand in goodbye at him.

“Aw kid. Good job,” he can’t help but lean down and kiss Ray’s forehead. 

She’s too adorable. He’s helpless.

Stiles hears Derek start talking again, but only when he’s left the room.

—————

“Dude you were acting super weird last night,” Scott calls him out at the same time as he fires three red shells up right up his/Princess Peach’s butt the next day, so it’s doubly annoying.

“Die Wario! Die!!! No, I wasn’t,” Stiles shoves his best friend in the shoulder the same time as he rams Wario with Peach’s bike, “you’re weird.”

Success. Doubly effective counter strike.

“Yes, you so were. In fact, we all talked about how weird you were acting after you left,” Scott pauses the game.

“Noooo! You only paused because you saw I just picked up a mega mushroom and I was about to squash your cheating ass,” Stiles huffs and picks up the nearly empty bag of Cheetos.

“What’s going on with you? Your dad just said you’d been working a lot. Mom won’t tell me anything at all and Derek just kept changing the subject when I asked him if he knew what was up with you,” Scott frowns.

“Scotty, there isn’t anything wrong,” Stiles begins.

“Oh! You’re lying again! You’ve gotten so good at keeping your heart rate even over the years, but I heard that! Lie!” Scott exclaims, a hurt look of betrayal on his face.

“Oh for fucks sake. Are you crying? Stop. Fine. I’m just struggling a little bit to associate the Derek we once knew with new Derek. The new Derek who apparently didn’t care enough to keep in contact with us when he did a runner without saying goodbye. The new Derek who’s just showed up out of nowhere with this whole little family, this whole little _life_ all of a sudden, that we weren’t involved in. It’s not normal. He’s the one that’s weird now, not me,” Stiles grumbles defensively.

“Why are you so bothered about Derek at all?” Scott says, confused little head tilt present and accounted for.

“I’m not bothered about Derek,” Stiles says quickly before he can steady himself.

“Lie! You lied again!” Scott accuses and this time he looks like he might actually, really cry at the fact Stiles isn’t telling him the truth.

Stiles rolls his eyes at him.

“Oh my god. I’m maybe a _little_ bit bothered about Derek,” Stiles offers generously.

Scott cocks his head at him again.

“But _why_?” Scott, bless his naive little heart asks.

Stiles just gives him ‘the look’. 

He’s honed it over the years and it’s the look he gives Scott when he wants him to figure something out all on his own. Scott’s brain has been conditioned to dig a little deeper for his own answers when he receives that specific look from Stiles.

Stiles can almost see the cogs working as Scott’s face clenches and unclenches as he finally comes to a conclusion.

Stiles knows he’s got it when Scott jumps up off the couch.

“No way?!” Scott yells so loud it makes Stiles flinch.

“I can’t help it!” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

“Can’t help what?” Malia calls from upstairs.

“Stiles wants to bone Derek,” Scott yells.

“I actually hate you,” Stiles buries his head in his hands as Malia comes bouncing down the stairs.

“So what?” She says to Scott.

“So what? It’s Derek! And Stiles! We’re all friends. It’s just... I don’t know. It’s weird!” Scott splutters. 

“It’s just sex Scott,” Malia crosses her arms over her chest, “Stiles and I used to have sex and that’s not weird at all, it’s sort of the same thing.” 

Stiles picks up a pillow off Scott and Malia’s couch and he screams into it. This is getting to be a habit.

He hates his friends.

—————

Stiles doesn’t see Derek at all for a couple of days so he’s happy ignoring his problem, and thus he’s lulled into a false sense of security.

Stiles is minding his own business catching up on work emails at his dad’s kitchen table when he gets a text from an unknown number on the Thursday morning, a few days into his vacation.

Unknown number- Hey. Got a phone. 

Stiles S- Ok. I’m very happy for you. Also, who is this? I need to know to whom I need to direct my happiness.

Unknown number- Derek.

Stiles throws his laptop to the left, puts his bowl of captain crunch to the side and he sits up straight. This requires his full attention.

His phone beeps again before he can type a reply.

Unknown number- Derek Hale... ?

Bless his leather jacket. 

Grinning, Stiles quickly saves his number and types a reply.

Stiles S- Don’t be such a dork, I could have probably guessed it was you judging by your monosyllabic messages.

Sourwolf- My friendly and informative message did not necessitate the use of elongated pronouncements.

Stiles snorts loudly.

Stiles S- Did you use a thesaurus for that?

Sourwolf- Unmitigatedly...

Stiles S- Cool... well. Thanks. I’ve saved your number.

Sourwolf- Good.

What in the hell is Stiles supposed to do with that? 

He puts his phone down and tries to ignore it, chewing his thumbnail.

It stays silent and he manages to get a few emails sent, an hour dragging by. 

He’s contemplating going back to bed to be a hibernating turtle for the day when he’s saved from that fate.

His phone beeps again and he nearly drops his mug in his haste to snatch it up.

Sourwolf- Are you busy at all today?

Stiles’ heart is in his throat as he replies.

Stiles S- Not really... why?

Sourwolf- I need a big favour.

That has Stiles’ brain working. That didn’t sound like Derek wanted to hang out, not as such. 

But Derek, or the old Derek anyway, never asked for help. His reply comes easily.

Stiles S- Sure.

Sourwolf- I’ll owe you big time. I’ll be at your dad’s in ten minutes?

Stiles S- I’ll be here.

Stiles runs around trying to make the place look presentable and he almost forgets about himself.

He looks down at his attire with just a minute to spare. 

He’s only wearing his old x-men pyjama bottoms and they have a hole in the knee and he’d gone sans shirt this morning.

“Fuck,” he barrels back up the stairs and makes it to his room just as the doorbell goes.

“Come in!” Stiles yells, knowing Derek will hear him.

He yanks on a clean t-shirt and the jeans he had on the day before and runs back downstairs in time to see Derek putting Ray in the high chair, which his dad has inexplicably left in place at the kitchen table. Derek’s got his back to him.

Ray immediately grabs for Stiles’ discarded cereal bowl from earlier and she shoves a fistful of soggy bites into her mouth.

Derek grimaces at her but he doesn’t move stop her, he just places both his hands on his harassed looking head and he sighs.

“Hey kiddo. Morning Derek,” Stiles smiles at them both.

Derek spins around to look at him and Stiles has never seen anyone look so flustered and sexy at the same time. 

In fact, Stiles almost swallows his tongue at how Derek looks.

Derek’s wearing dark grey fitted suit trousers that do ridiculous things for his thighs and a dark purple tie is hanging loose around his neck.

He has completed his professional look with a crisp black shirt that has a huge patch of what looks like baby barf on the shoulder and his hair is all stuck down flat, but just on just the one side.

Stiles bites his lip to hold in his laugh.

“Please help me,” Derek pleads, eyes wide.

Stiles snorts.

“What’s going on?” He saves the cereal bowl from Ray, chopping up some small slices of banana for her instead and he puts them in front of her.

She digs in.

“I have an interview at the Sheriff’s station in twenty minutes to see if they’re going to progress with my application. It’s with your dad. Malia got called into work and she was supposed to watch Ray for me. I pressed my shirt last night, then Ray puked on me as we were getting ready to leave. I don’t have another shirt... Stiles, I don’t have another clean shirt.” Derek runs his hand through his hair again, making it stick up this time. 

He looks a bit like a harassed adorable little hedgehog, all puffed up.

“Why don’t you call him? Dad will understand if you’re running a little late and you need to get changed. Give you time to sort out a sitter,” Stiles suggests.

“No. Your dad is sticking his neck out for me on this one. I had a murder charge against me. I’m sure they will all be waiting for me to screw up anyway, I don’t want to start off with your dad making any more excuses for me,” Derek frowns at him.

“Ok. Well look, I’ve got a few shirts with me because I came here straight from work, but I think it’s going to be a tight fit. I know I’m not as skinny as I used to be but I’m not exactly the same hunky physique as you, oh grand macho werewolf,” Stiles shrugs.

Derek runs his eyes blatantly over Stiles’ chest.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Derek mutters, and he slams his mouth shut, teeth audibly clacking together, as if he really hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Stiles flushes but he heads upstairs to grab Derek a spare dark shirt.

When he gets back to the kitchen, Derek’s already shed his dirty shirt and he’s helping himself to Stiles’ half empty mug of coffee, neck thrown back as he drinks.

Stiles literally looks to the heavens because he must have done something really good in a past life to be awarded with the sight of Derek Hale’s naked, very firm, slightly hairy torso parading around his dad’s kitchen before eleven in the morning. 

Drinking his coffee.

Stiles’ mouth had just been on that mug. Right where Derek’s mouth is.

By elementary school rules of dating (ie sharing a bottle-your mouth touching where someone else’s mouth was just touching, sharing cooties) they’re now practically married. He bites down the urge to inform Derek of that. 

“How is this my actual life?” Stiles complains under his breath, but Derek pins him with a hard look.

Derek walks up to where he’s standing and he plucks the shirt out of his hands, nostrils flaring.

“Sorry. It’s pressed because I hung it up in my suit bag after I finished a shift last week but I haven’t had time to get it laundered. I don’t think it stinks too much. The rest I have are white,” Stiles flushes, apologetic.

Derek sniffs it while maintaining eye contact. It’s weirdly erotic.

“What? Beggars can’t be choosers Derek. I can spray it with febreeze if it bothers you,” Stiles huffs.

“Just smells like you,” Derek twitches his nose, voice gravelly.

He tugs it on while Stiles does his best to avert his eyes, suddenly fascinated with the pan shelf behind him. 

Derek even manages to put a shirt on angrily.

Stiles arranges the pans by size, then colour, then handle length until Derek’s finished with the buttoning, still standing right in front of him. Goddamned space invader.

“This fit?” Derek’s voice is slightly gruff.

Stiles takes him in and he represses a snort, reminded of the last time Derek had ended up wearing a shirt of his, an orange and blue striped monstrosity.

Stiles gets a pang of nostalgia for the Miguel days. 

Oh how much simpler it was when Derek just shoved him into doors and was generally sassy to him instead of this new weird mix of intense, angry, nice.

“Good... yeah, it looks really good,” Stiles nods truthfully, clearing his throat.

The shirt is straining a little at the buttons but Derek’s tie should cover the worst of it.

Derek knots his tie effortlessly and he shrugs his suit jacket on over it. 

Stiles wants to climb him like a tree, but you know, baby present.

“Your hair... you need to... just... stay there a second,” Stiles heads for the sink and runs the tap for a second and puts his hand underneath the warm spray.

Derek walks right up to him, arms boxing him in against the counter, much too close for what would be considered socially acceptable, standing perfectly still.

Stiles takes his life into his hands and he turns and smooths down Derek’s hair with his damp hand, then tousles it artfully to the side.

Derek leans his head into the touch closing his eyes and Stiles takes far too long to remove his hand, carding his fingers through Derek’s hair and trailing his fingers over his scalp.

“There,” Stiles barely recognises his own voice it’s so low, “much better.”

Derek smells like vanilla soap and Stiles’ coffee. Stiles licks his lips and he’s sure he doesn’t imagine it when Derek opens his eyes and he tracks the movement.

“Right. I should probably go.” Derek announces to the room at large but his eyes are definitely on Stiles’ mouth now. He doesn’t move an inch.

“Ok...” Stiles breathes, but he doesn’t step back either.

He _can’t_ step back actually. His ass is pressed right against the counter, Derek boxing him in bodily.

And he can’t move forward either, there’s barely an inch of space between them, Derek’s body a hot line in front of him.

“Ok...” Derek repeats, but he still doesn’t move.

“You’re going to be late,” Stiles offers sensibly and he licks his lips.

“Stile!” Ray shouts to get his attention.

This seems to motivate Derek and snap him out of whatever weird tension bubble they were in.

Derek steps back abruptly and clearing his throat, gives Ray a quick peck on the cheek, looks at Stiles for a second as if he’s contemplating doing the same to him, then he walks straight out the door. 

Stiles remains plastered and sprawled against the kitchen counter.

Stiles smiles dopily over at Ray.

Wait. 

The kid. 

That he is now alone with. In his dad’s kitchen. Alone. Aloney Mc Alone in the Alone zone.

They didn’t discuss Stiles babysitting. Stiles thought he just wanted to borrow a shirt before dropping the kid off somewhere.

He feels the panic rise in his throat as he runs to the front door, but it’s too late. 

Derek’s long gone.

Stiles shouts out of the open doorway anyway.

“Derek... Derek?! DEREK! You forgot the kid!”

—————

Stiles and Ray begin their morning by having a staring contest. 

Stiles has no clue what to do with a toddler. Especially one that can only communicate by yelling random words.

“Ray. Ray Ray. My little Ray ban, Ray Charles, gamma ray, my Ray of sunshine,” Stiles talks to her.

“Ray,” Ray agrees, clapping her itty bitty, banana covered hands together in the high chair.

“What shall we do this morning then huh? Derek’s left this baby bag with some stuff in for you, how about we take our little Stiles and Ray party to the sitting room and tip all this crap out on the rug? See what we’re working with?” Stiles offers.

“Crap,” Ray gurgles.

“Ohhhh noooo. Please don’t say that. Bad word. Uncle Stiles said a bad word. I didn’t mean to say that,” Stiles flails and the movement makes Ray giggle.

Excellent, he’s been alone with Derek’s child for five whole minutes and already he’s taught her how to curse.

Derek’s going to rip his throat out. With his teeth.

Stiles plucks Ray out of the chair and grabs the baby bag.

He makes a giant pen out of the heavy couch cushions on the floor so that Ray can’t escape and he sits down inside it with her. 

She immediately begins to explore her cage, testing out the durability. Even when she stands up on wobbly, chubby little legs, she can’t step over the cushions.

“Listen up pipsqueak, I am a very important FBI agent. You won’t outsmart me,” Stiles tells her, “bet you can outsmart Derek though.”

“Cookie Stile,” Ray frowns at him as he tips out the baby bag, relieved to see numerous toys and books spill to the ground, along with a few containers of food and a sippy cup full of what smells like apple flavoured water, “where Der Der?”

“Of course you’d call him Der Der and not Dada. You’re a rebel. He gets everything he deserves with a smart little one like you, you’re going to give him a right headache when you’re older, I’ll bet,” Stiles keeps up his nervous chatter, hoping Ray likes him enough not to freak out in Derek’s absence, “Derek... sorry, I mean Der Der will be back really soon. Until then, Uncle Stiles is going to show you how to spell with these cool blocks.”

Stiles picks up the alphabet blocks and Ray flumps down on her little nappied butt next to him.

The blocks have a mixture of numbers, animals and letters on.

Stiles spells out Derek first and Ray muddles them back up with her hands.

Stiles quickly works out Ray’s favourite thing to do with the blocks is for Stiles to stack them up high and then she comes in to wreck them, like a mini adorable King Kong, stampeding and causing chaos.

The higher the blocks and the more Stiles pretends to be sad about Ray destroying his work, the funnier Ray finds it.

She’s got Derek’s sense of humour too, the little sadistic barbarian.

They go through all the games and Ray spends a lot of time sounding out all the animals in a book about a barnyard.

Stiles is impressed, the kid is actually quite smart. Not that he has a development frame of reference for two year olds or anything.

Stiles finds himself having a lot of fun and he’s surprised when he checks his phone and notices nearly two hours have passed since Derek left.

Ray yawns and Stiles figures she must be hungry by now or maybe ready for a nap, so he hitches her onto his hip again and plonks her back in the high chair while he heats up a container labelled “Lunch” from the bag. 

Derek had obviously been very prepared to drop her to Malia, thank god.

Stiles puts the spoon to his mouth to test the temperature like he’s seen on telly and he’s pleased it’s not too hot.

He feeds Ray in the high chair and gives her a small stabby carton of juice with a cartoon character on the front, that he finds in his dad’s fridge.

His dad never buys things like that and he spares a second to wonder if his dad actually bought them for Ray, then he buries that thought down deep.

Unless maybe he’s bought them for Stiles. Stiles helps himself to one too, just in case.

Ray eats everything happily and drinks her juice up. 

Then she gets a look on her face that Stiles swears he’s seen Derek make before and then she goes bright red.

A god awful smell fills the kitchen.

Stiles retches.

“Poop!” Ray announces.

“Poop,” Stiles agrees with dismay.

Then Stiles almost falls off his chair when she starts crying and her eyebrows disappear and her eyes change colour.

“Jesus! I am not prepared for this,” Stiles picks her up without hesitation, holding his nose with one hand, “Werewolf babies now. I did not sign up for this.”

Ray and Stiles both agree never to speak of the nappy change affair ever again. 

Stiles is not proud to admit it had involved a lot of crying (on his part, Ray stopped as soon as he picked her up) and poop literally ending up on his arm.

He’d had to take them both into the shower in the end, gagging the whole way, the mess unsalvageable. When they were both squeaky clean, he’d managed to put a nappy back on Ray and dress them both successfully.

Thankfully, she was back to being a regular kid by that point. 

He does however now have baby powder in his hair, but at least it’s not poop.

She’s now fallen fast asleep after all the drama on Stiles’ bed. He boxed her into the wall with pillows and lay down the other side of them for extra security, in case she rolls in her sleep. 

He was too worried to sleep himself, so instead he’s just sat here watching her little chest rise and fall as she sleeps on her back, fists clenched above her head the entire time.

He’s relaxed enough to read a book in the end and that’s where Derek finds him, propped up in bed with his glasses on, Ray still flat out by his side.

He startles a little when Derek just appears in his doorway, no one there when he glanced up last time, then there lies a Derek, leaning against the doorframe.

“Jesus, knobs and shit sticks,” Stiles whispers clutching at his chest, “you are such a creeper. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Ray snorts cutely in her sleep but she rolls into Stiles’ side, leaning her little arm over the pillow barrier and she grips his t-shirt with her chubby little fingers. 

Stiles stills but she stays asleep.

“Sorry,” Derek’s expression is tender, voice low as he comes to peer over Stiles and look down at Ray.

“It’s ok. How did it go?” Stiles keeps his voice quiet as Derek sits in his old desk chair, hanging his suit jacket over the back of it.

Stiles tries to ignore the familiarity of it all.

“Good I think. I’ve got my physical tomorrow morning and then if I pass that, I can start on Monday officially,” Derek smiles softly.

“Amazing. Well done. You really deserve it,” Stiles tells him sincerely, “you’ll obviously ace the physical. It’s not fair by the way, you should at least have a dad bod by now, not still look all... well, all like that.”

“You’re so weird, why would I have a dad bod?” Derek frowns at him but he doesn’t takes his eyes off Stiles, “I wanted to say thanks for today by the way. Seriously. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“No problem. Hey. I can’t believe you left me with a living breathing child,” Stiles frowns, reminded of Derek abandoning him, and the fact he’s supposed to be mad at him, “who turns into a baby Werewolf when she’s cranky! Thanks for the warning!”

“Well, there’s not many people I can trust in town at the moment,” Derek shrugs easily, “She hasn’t done the wolfing out thing for a few months, I didn’t think it would be a problem. She’s usually got really good control for her age. It’s the full moon tonight. I’ll go back to working with her a bit on that, we use the book about the moon to teach her about staying hidden. She must have felt safe around you to show you that side of her. Was she ok for you apart from that?”

“You trust me? With the kid? Yeah, she was a dream man, you should be so proud,” Stiles doesn’t quite believe him.

“Of course I trust you,” Derek says without missing a beat.

“Why?!” Stiles is genuinely baffled. 

“Because you’re smart and strong and you protect the people you care about,” Derek rolls his eyes and says it like Stiles is stupid for even asking, like it’s obvious, “even when it gets you hurt.” 

Stiles’ mouth falls open and he knows it’s not pretty but he just gapes at him.

“I picked up the mess in the kitchen and sitting room,” Derek breaks the tension.

“Oh good. Ray and I agreed never to talk about the poop scenario ever again to save both our sensibilities, so I’m afraid I can’t go into too much detail, but I can hand on heart say it was more traumatising than anything I ever faced in high school, faceless dead bodies included,” Stiles shudders.

Derek chuckles and his eyes wrinkle. 

It’s a good look on him. The dude is ageing exceptionally well, it’s so not fair.

Stiles gets an insane urge to touch him, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“I did see your crumpled shirt outside the bathroom. I threw it in the bin, I think it was beyond saving. I’ll buy you a new one,” Derek grins.

“It’s cool, it was old anyways,” Stiles shrugs and he knows there’s an answering smile on his own face.

Derek smiling always disarms him. 

“Thanks again for today. I really mean it. I owe you one,” Derek’s face turns serious again.

“No worries, like I said, she was a dream. Hey, What are you going to do next week when you start work full time?” Stiles asks, curious how Derek’s going to juggle being a working Dad. 

Maybe his mysterious baby mama will be joining him. Maybe she’s already here, maybe she was just busy today.

“Cora will be back by then, she gets in Sunday night. She’s missed Ray so bad,” Derek tells him and he leans back in Stiles’ chair, hands behind his head, closing his eyes.

“Cool. I do miss Cora, she’s at least my second favourite Hale. Peter’s last, obviously. Is she coming back to stay or just to help out for a bit until you and Ray get settled? Or is Ray’s Mom coming back? She going to take care of Ray while you work?” Stiles doesn’t want to pry, but his curiosity about the whereabouts of the kid’s mother is eating him alive.

Derek opens one eye, eyebrow so high it’s touching his hairline practically.

“What? What are you talking about?” Derek starts to sit up, deep frown on his face.

“You know. How is it going to work juggling the kid with work? Will Cora watch Ray for you?” Stiles frowns back.

“No? Stiles, what do you... I’m watching Ray for Cora, not the other way around. Just until Cora’s finalised packing up at our old place in Venuzuela. The house was in Cora’s name out there because that’s where she’d lived before. It made more sense she tied everything up while I went on ahead to get settled here. One of us needed to register Ray in a pre k for next term, there was a deadline so I had to come back earlier. And get her signed up with a doctor and stuff. Cora’s obsessed with raising Ray where we grew up, it’s not all bad memories for us here. I wasn’t going to let her come back without me. You didn’t think... wait, what _did_ you think?” Derek frowns, like he’s unsure why Stiles is confused.

But how would he not be confused.

“I still don’t get it. Why would you be watching Ray for Cora? I thought...” Stiles frowns, sitting up further in the bed.

Unless... unless...

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathes, “Oh. My. God. I’m an idiot.”

Derek sits fully up now, frowning so hard his eyebrows are practically touching his lips. He leans forward until he’s inches from Stiles face, eyes blazing red.

“Did you think Ray was _my_ kid?” Derek’s tone is incredulous, “how are you an FBI agent? A successful one at that?!”

Stiles stands up as gently as he can and Ray stirs but she settles down again after a few seconds of silence from them.

Stiles reasserts the cushion barrier and he drags Derek into the hallway by his tie and shoves him against the wall. Derek doesn’t fight him.

“Of course I thought she was yours, you dick, she looks exactly like you! Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?” Stiles crowds Derek up against the wall whispering furiously, not wanting to have to raise his voice and wake Ray.

“Well of course she’s going to look like me you idiot, I’m her uncle. The Hales have strong genes! And everyone else knows Ray is Cora’s. I thought your Dad or Scott would have told you,” Derek says defensively.

“Clearly not!” Stiles mutters.

Now he thinks about it, no one had actually claimed that Ray was Derek’s daughter. 

Stiles had just assumed when he’d seen them together. Scott and his Dad knew that Derek had bumped into Stiles at the coffee shop the morning he was back, so maybe they’d just thought Derek had told him himself.

“Wait... is that why you’ve been acting so weird with me? How could you even think that I’d had a kid and not said anything to you?” Derek asks him, eyes still burning.

Stiles’ eyes flick to his mouth and he can see a hint of fang poking out.

“That’s exactly what I thought! I thought you’d fucked off six years ago and not bothered to tell any of us you’d had a baby!” Stiles’ hands go to Derek’s hips of their own volition and for some insane reason, Derek doesn’t push him away.

“Obviously not. Of course I would have told you that. I would have found a way to tell you that.” Derek defends himself.

“Well you didn’t tell me you were leaving Beacon Hills in the first place, you’ll have to forgive me for considering it as a possibility,” Stiles doesn’t mean for his words to come out so hurt and harsh sounding, but there it is.

Exactly what he’d been trying not to say comes tumbling out.

Derek looks like he’s been slapped.

“Well, seeing as you’ve brought it up, you’ll have to excuse me for leaving so abruptly, but you were a little preoccupied at the time, if I remember it rightly. I’m surprised you even noticed I was gone,” Derek’s expression goes hard and Stiles takes a step back and takes his hands off him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Stiles says angrily.

Ray gives a small cry as she wakes up and finds Stiles gone and she hears their raised voices.

“Stile?” Her tiny voice calls out, “Der Der?”

Derek let’s his eyes bleed back to normal and his body unclenches, fight all but gone.

“Nothing Stiles. It isn’t supposed to mean anything at all,” Derek pushes past him to get to Ray.

Stiles let’s him go.

—————

By the time Monday rolls around, Stiles has suitably ignored his work emails all weekend and he’s been in the same set of pyjama pants for two days straight.

He showers and gets dressed and drags himself to the coffee shop, laptop in hand, needing a change of scenery.

When he took a couple of weeks leave, he hadn’t considered everyone else would still be at work. 

He’s bored out of his mind already but thankfully, work has piled up enough that it will at least keep him busy for most of today.

“Hey April,” he announces when he walks in just after 9am.

No one is at the counter and there are only two other people in the whole shop. April beams when she sees him and she starts up the coffee machine.

“Hey Stiles. The usual?” She says.

“I’ve only had it once, does that even qualify as a usual?” He asks her.

“Sure it does,” April begins to froth the milk.

“Can I just get the regular amount of caramel, I’m gonna be here for a few hours at least and I’ll be climbing the walls by midday if I go for the old six pumps again,” Stiles tells her.

“Sure. You working?” April nods at his laptop tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, if that’s ok?” Stiles asks her.

“Of course. There’s a plug for your charger by the small round table by the window and that chair is the comfiest one in here,” April winks at him, “I’ll bring your coffee over when it’s done.”

“You’re the best,” Stiles sighs and he sits down and plugs in his laptop, typing in numerous passwords and encryptions to allow him access to his emails.

April puts down his coffee in silence. She just gives him a little pat on the shoulder and she leaves him a little card with the WiFi code on.

Stiles loses himself in work for a few hours. He’s remote consulting on a few cases at the moment and he gets very obsessed with some crime scene photos that he’s been sent from another agent he works with regularly called Tom. 

His boss had assigned Tom as some extra “help” for Stiles and he’d described the rookie as “open minded” when he pitched him to Stiles.

Stiles has to beg to differ. 

He’s typing furiously, arguing flat out in a group chat with Tom and his boss about whether or not the unsub who committed the serial killings from the photos could be a Vampire (Tom thinks it’s an escaped pet alligator... someone give him strength) when a shadow looms over him, blocking out the light from the window.

Stiles stops typing and blinks up to be met with the sight of a backlit Deputy Derek, in full uniform. 

It’s what he imagines having a religious experience would be like.

Stiles spills his coffee on his laptop.

“Shit!” he exclaims, jumping up.

Derek grunts and grabs some napkins off the nearby counter and helps him clean up the mess, dabbing the keys.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbles.

“Hey. My fault,” Stiles allows.

Technically, it was Derek’s fault, for looking so goddamn sexy in the middle of the day and springing his fine self on unsuspecting innocent citizens like Stiles, who are just minding their own business.

“Will it be ok?” Derek asks.

“The laptop? Sure. It’s water resistant. Might be a bit sticky, but I like sticky things,” Stiles winces as the words come out of his mouth.

What is wrong with him, seriously? 

I like sticky things. Who even says things like that? He’s such a dork.

Derek smiles at him.

“That’s good,” Derek offers.

“So. What can I do for you Deputy Hale?” Stiles sits back down and he crosses his legs and tries to act aloof, despite the way Derek rolls his eyes at him.

He’d read about it once, being aloof. It was in a historical romance book he’d found belonging to Scott. Scott had tried to pass it off as Malia’s but Stiles didn’t need to be a Werewolf to know when his best friend was lying, the little pervy romantic.

“Do you need to pee or something?” Derek gestures to his crossed legs, frown on his face.

Stiles uncrosses them. Aloof, his ass.

“No. Im kind of busy Derek, what’s up?” Stiles knows he’s being rude, but after Derek’s little tantrum at his dad’s house last week, he can’t find it in himself to care.

Derek let’s out a little pained huff and Stiles glances around, glad to see that the coffee shop is still mostly empty, large clock showing 11am.

“Nothing’s up. I just thought I’d come say hello when I saw you sitting here,” Derek says through gritted teeth.

“Oh. Hello. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Stiles purposefully glances back down at his screen.

The shadow doesn’t move.

Stiles deliberately doesn’t look at him.

“So stubborn,” Derek grumbles, “look. I’m sorry ok. For how I acted at your dad’s house. In hindsight, I can see how you would have thought Ray was mine.”

“Could you please repeat that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the S word before,” Stiles glances up at him, smirk on his lips.

So sue him, bearing grudges is not his strong point. Especially in the face of all the hotness that is Deputy Derek.

“You’re an ass,” Derek says, posture relaxing.

“Yep,” Stiles grins, “but so are you. Fine, I forgive you. I’m sorry for assuming that Ray was yours. Which would have been cool with me, for the record. How’s your first day going?”

“Haven’t started, I’m on the afternoon shift so just heading in. I thought I’d grab coffee for your dad on my way,” Derek smiles tentatively.

“Bribery will get you everywhere with him. Make sure you get him decaf. No sugar,” Stiles frowns.

“I will. He won’t be happy about it though,” Derek hums thoughtfully.

“Tell him I forced you, if he complains about it,” Stiles nods.

“I’ll definitely blame you, I don’t want him mad at _me_ on my first day,” Derek smiles down at him.

April calls over to say Derek’s takeaway order is done.

“Well, I should probably go,” Derek says, but he doesn’t move.

This is becoming a thing.

“Ok...” Stiles grins, hoping Derek gets it.

“Ok...” Derek parrots, smiling shyly himself, still not moving.

“You two are ridiculous! Your coffee’s are getting cold Derek,” April yells.

Stiles feels his cheeks heat up as Derek bashfully ducks his head, but there’s a blush on Derek’s face too, so he doesn’t feel too bad.

Derek grabs his order, says something to April and waves goodbye to Stiles.

Stiles gives him a little salute and he watches him go.

He’ll never be able to look at his dad’s beige uniform the same, not after imagining stripping Derek out of his.

————— 

Stiles keeps working until his stomach announces its past lunchtime and he gets up to go to the counter to order something to eat.

April heads him off, stopping where she was cleaning tables and she pushes him back in his seat.

“One minute,” she tells him.

She heads behind the counter, clatters around and when she comes back, she puts down a tray containing a huge, meaty looking grilled cheese sandwich and a giant gooey looking chocolate cupcake with a red heart decoration on the top.

“I haven’t ordered yet,” Stiles looks at her confused.

“Derek said as soon as your stomach grumbled more than once and you ignored it, to put the grilled cheese on,” April smiles conspiratorially at him.

“No way.” Stiles looks at the tray in disbelief. 

How would Derek even remember grilled cheese is his favourite?

“Yes way. Also... he picked that specific cupcake himself,” April beams at him.

“Shut up, no he did not,” Stiles blushes.

“He did. Cross my heart,” April nods.

“There probably wasn’t a less sappy choice,” Stiles tries.

“Stiles... don’t be so obtuse. There are literally four other designs to choose from in the display cabinet and one is green and decorated like a cow. There was definitely a less sappy choice,” April frowns and she says slowly, “Derek did not want the cow cupcake.”

“Well, maybe...” Stiles begins.

“Nope. No maybe. He said to bring you the one at the back, second from the left. And that was this one. So eat it and love it. Love it like Derek looooves you,” April sing songs.

“Oh my god, go away April,” Stiles thumps his head on the table, “I have no idea why I even like you.”

He eats the cupcake first with a delighted groan, before he eats his grilled cheese. 

It’s of course, absolutely perfect.

When it’s time to leave and and he tries to pay, April tells him Derek already cleared his tab for the day, lunch included. 

He manages to stay annoyed for five whole minutes, right up until he remembers the cupcake.

Then he walks back to his dad’s house with a stupid grin on his face instead.

The next morning his face actually hurts a bit from smiling.

—————

“Dad come onnnnnn, we’re going to be late,” Stiles calls up the stairs to where John is getting dressed.

“Alright, it’s doesn’t even have a specific start time or anything, why are you so keen all of a sudden? You’ve never wanted to even go to one of these things before,” John shouts down the stairs.

“How dare you Father. I’ve never been a member of law enforcement myself when you’ve previously had a department barbecue, so now I can appreciate it from an insider point of view,” Stiles crosses his arms at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sure, I believe you,” his dad’s sceptical face appears at the top of the stairs as he tucks his shirt into his trousers, “and this doesn’t have anything at all to do with the fact that Derek’s chosen to take his lunch break every day this week to come see you at Drink me baby one more night?”

“It’s sip me baby one more time you heathen. And maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. What’s it to you Daddio? Mind your beeswax,” Stiles huffs, hustling his father out to the jeep.

Truthfully, it has everything to do with the fact that Derek’s chosen to take his lunch break at the coffee shop every day that week.

After the first day when he’d paid up Stiles’ tab, Stiles had kind of thought they would go back to the awkwardness that seemed to plague them after every time they made a step in the right direction.

That was just them. One step forward, ninety nine backwards. Except apparently not this time.

He hadn’t even really expected to see Derek again, but the very next day, right about the time Stiles’ stomach started to grumble, Derek had sat down opposite him with a tray of food he’d ordered for them both.

Stiles hadn’t questioned it, not wanting to break the tentative friendship they were building and instead he’d just talked Derek’s ear off as they ate and Derek seemed content to let him chatter away.

The next day, the Wednesday, it went pretty much the same, except that day Cora and Ray had joined them. Derek had told him all about what he’d been doing in Venezuela as Stiles had blown raspberries into Ray’s tummy. Derek had expressed just how he was really enjoying being back in Beacon Hills and Cora had kept giving Stiles these loaded looks.

Cora couldn’t wipe the shit eating grin off her face when Derek kept stealing sips of Stiles’ coffee, rather than drinking his own. Stiles had purposefully ignored her and kicked at Derek’s feet under the table, until Derek had trapped his foot between his legs. 

Derek had kept him pinned there until they’d left.

On the Thursday, Derek found Stiles turning down a guy trying to give him his number. On a napkin of all things.

Derek had skipped the line and instead taken a seat right next to Stiles and thrown his arm over the back of his chair and glared, until the guy had stumbled out an apology and left.

Stiles had opened his mouth to chew him out but Derek had just ducked his head, taken a deep breath and asked Stiles about his past relationships and if he was seeing anyone currently. 

Stiles had confessed there had been no one special and he’d tried to smother his smile when Derek had said it had been the same for him. 

Derek had then nodded, satisfied, ordered his coffee and lunch for them both and when he sat down again, he put his arm back where it was.

That day, they’d talked a _lot_. Stiles had told him about the epic fail that was him and Lydia and Derek had snapped his eyes up, very interested all of a sudden. 

When Derek had left after lunch, he’d briefly placed a large hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, fingers hot on his skin, eyes burning. 

Stiles had just tilted his head back and with a small huff, he’d let him.

What a hussy he is, encouraging public marking, in a coffee shop of all places.

He’s accidentally stumbled upon- translates to very purposefully searched for- dodgy stubbly pornos that began just like that.

Thursday was the day that Stiles knew he was completely screwed, because he went straight home and wrapped his hand around his dick the second he was through his bedroom door, frantic to get hands on himself in a way he hasn’t felt since... well since he was around Derek as a teenager. 

He came shockingly fast, pressed facedown on his mattress, with Derek’s face in his mind and Derek’s name on his lips.

By the Friday, Stiles had hatched a plan for lunchtime revenge. He wouldn’t see Derek until the night.

He had offered to go to pick up Melissa from work as Scott and his dad were working and he’d already told Derek he wouldn’t be around for lunch, however he knew Derek wasn’t one to break a habit.

He had harassed his Dad for Derek’s schedule and he’d gotten Layla the dispatcher to text him when Derek left the Sheriff’s station at lunch time.

This time, when Derek walked in to the coffee shop, he’d find _his_ lunch already paid for, April under strict instructions to give him a very specific cupcake.

When he’d told her his plan, April had bagged it up with a grin and placed it safely next to the cash register, alongside where she was packing up some lunch orders for the office building next door.

Take that Derek.

That’s why he’s hurried his dad out the door. To say Stiles is excited about the Sheriff’s department BBQ Friday night, it’s a little bit of an understatement.

—————

Stiles parks the jeep at the Sheriff’s station and he and his dad walk round back to the large field they use for training the K-9 units

It’s busy, most of the town has turned out and the Sheriff is quickly swept into the crowd of people vying for his attention, leaving Stiles to fend for himself.

He doesn’t see Derek anywhere, but he does spot Scott and Malia and he waves at them.

He goes to get a beer and hot dog from where Bobby Finstock is working the grill.

“Billinksi! I’d say it’s good to see you but my priest said lying all the time will get me to hell faster. You want onions?” Finstock says when he sees Stiles.

“No thanks Coach,” Stiles shakes his head.

“Here ya go,” Finstock hands him a hotdog piled with extra onions and a cold beer.

“Coach. I said I didn’t want...” Stiles begins but he’s cut off by Finstock turning up the little wireless radio he’s placed next to him.

“COACH! I don’t like onions!” Stiles yells, but it’s no use, he’s being drowned out by Fleetwood Mac.

Finstock grins and points at his ears and he shrugs, as if he can’t hear him, which he clearly can.

Stiles walks forlornly over to where Scott and Malia are standing.

Scott eyes his hotdog hopefully on his approach so Stiles just hands it straight over to him.

“Dude, thanks. Finstock won’t give me any food because I told him he should lay off the beer if he’s working the grill,” Scott frowns as he inhales the hotdog, “My Mom had to sneak me a burger earlier. She’s around somewhere.”

Stiles snorts.

Coming between Finstock and booze, Scott is a braver man than he.

“I’ve put Greenberg and his wife on flame watch, they’ve got the fire extinguisher from the station ready,” Scott tuts.

“Hey, have you guy’s seen Derek?” Stiles asks them.

“Yeah, he was asking if you’d got here yet,” Malia offers.

“When?” Stiles scams the field, but he can’t see him anywhere.

“I don’t know. Maybe ten minutes ago?” Malia shrugs and she sniffs the air and spins, “there’s Cora and Ray over there though.” 

Stiles looks and indeed, he can see Cora sitting on a blanket with Ray playing beside her.

They go over to them and Stiles flumps down on his belly so he’s face to face with Ray who squeals when she sees him.

“Unca Stile!” Ray says.

“Ray Ray,” he nods at her, grinning.

He pretends to be a rap artist mixed with a raspberry blowing monster of some kind and he chases her around on his hands and knees while Cora talks to Scott and Malia, before he picks her up.

Someone’s finally put on some music on loud enough to drown out Finstock’s choices and Stiles shakes his hips and dances with Ray in his arms, much to Cora, Scott and Malia’s amusement.

“Watch me whip! Watch me Ray Ray!” He tickles her as he moves and she giggles happily in his arms.

He spins around with her and nearly knocks straight into Derek.

“Argh!” Stiles yells, clasping Ray tight to his chest.

“Please don’t stop on my account,” Derek offers.

“Creeper Wolf,” Stiles growls and he puts Ray back down on the blanket.

“Enjoy your lunch today?” Stiles winks ridiculously at him.

Derek just shrugs.

“It was ok,” he says, face giving nothing away.

And, what? Stiles was hoping Derek might take his cupcake as a gesture of his undying adoration, but apparently not.

“Did you... erm, did you not enjoy your desert?” Stiles shifts from foot to foot nervously, voice low.

“It was spectacularly average,” Derek says with a frown.

“Oh,” Stiles looks down at his feet,

“Look Stiles. Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to buy me lunch or anything. I get it,” Derek grunts, looking supremely awkward.

Stiles looks up at him.

“What? I wanted to buy you lunch. You bought me lunch all week!” Stiles says in a hushed whisper stepping away from the others.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Derek shrugs.

“I know that! Why are you being so difficult?” Stiles grits his teeth and Derek’s face goes stony.

“I’m not. You’re the one being difficult,” Derek growls.

“Oh, so mature,” Stiles pokes him in the chest.

Derek grabs his finger and his eyes flash red.

Cora looks over at them, frown on her face.

“Boys...” she calls out, tone warning.

Derek let’s him go.

“Just forget it,” Derek grunts and the asshole actually walks off.

Stiles watches him get further and further away in disbelief, Derek stomping his angry retreat with before Stiles realises... there are those ninety nine steps backwards he’s been waiting for.

—————

Stiles decides to head for home when he realises that Derek’s not going to come back, despite his dad’s protests that he’s only been there an hour or so.

Stiles leaves the jeep and walks, enjoying the glow the sunset is casting on the streets and the warm summer air on his skin. 

He’s missed Beacon Hills more than he’d like to admit.

He’s missed _Derek_ more than he’d like to admit, he realises with a pang.

As Stiles rounds the corner to his dad’s house, he notices the aforementioned Sour-wolf sitting on the front steps leading to the front door.

Derek sits up straight on Stiles’ approach, hands clasped tight in front of himself, defensive almost.

Stiles stops when he’s about a metre away and crosses his arms and waits.

And waits.

Derek just keeps looking at him, expression sad.

“You’re driving me mad,” Stiles breaks first, despite himself, “what do you want from me Der?”

Derek winces at his tone and swallows, as if steeling himself.

“Look. I’m sorry for acting like an asshole earlier,” Derek starts.

“You were an asshole, yes,” Stiles interrupts.

“Let me finish,” Derek growls and Stiles clacks his teeth together to stop himself from talking.

He waves a hand as if to say, continue.

“I’m sorry for acting like an asshole, but you acted like one first,” Derek frowns.

“This is a terrible apology,” Stiles frowns.

“You... look. All week I’ve been trying to, I don’t know, get back to what we were before I left. I know it’s not that easy, but it’s just a joke to you, clearly,” Derek grumps, “I know things have changed and you probably don’t want to be friends anymore, you have this whole other life but I just thought maybe...”

“Maybe what?” Stiles takes an involuntary step closer when Derek gets to his feet, helplessly drawn to him, same as he’s always been.

“I thought maybe we could...” Derek steps closer, his hands unclenching.

“What Der,” Stiles breathes, staring at Derek’s mouth. 

He feels so unbearably warm all of a sudden.

“You gave me a cupcake with a cow on it Stiles. I thought maybe you... you know... felt the same... and you gave me a cow cupcake,” Derek glares at the ground, “it’s fine if you don’t feel the same, but I didn’t think you’d be so cruel.”

And what. _What?!_

“I didn’t give you a cow cupcake!” Stiles protests flailing, the sudden outburst making Derek startle.

Derek pins him with a look.

“Yes you did. April handed me a bag today and said you’d paid for my lunch and you picked that specific cupcake,” Derek glares at him, “I didn’t think you were that mean, you could have let me down gentler that that.” 

“Let you down? Derek, I don’t know what the hell is going on right now. I swear, I didn’t pick that cupcake,” Stiles scratches the back of his head, “wait, is that why you were being so grumpy at the BBQ?” 

Derek actually pouts.

“Did you want it to be a different cupcake?” Stiles breathes, hope blooming in his chest.

Stiles thinks Derek’s going to chicken out, they’ve been at this specific moment a few times before. Most memorably the moment in the loft six years ago, when Stiles was so sure Derek was going to kiss him.

So he’s really not expecting Derek’s response.

“Of course I wanted it to be a different cupcake. I thought you got that,” Derek looks at him all broodingly.

“Dude... listen. Feel.” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and ignores his shocked face when Stiles places it against his own pounding heart, “I picked the heart cupcake. I promise. I don’t know why you ended up with the wrong one, April must have given you the wrong bag or something. She was doing loads of orders when I called in actually.” 

Stiles smiles tentatively, knowing Derek’s not going to hear a lie in his words.

Derek cocks his head adorably and peers at him, face softening.

“Oh,” Derek says, adorable little front bunny teeth are peeking out from his mouth where it’s dropped open in surprise, “don’t call me dude.”

“I’ve no idea how you missed the fact that I’ve been hopelessly in lo... I mean, in like with you since I was sixteen. You’re meant to be a werewolf, superior senses and all that,” Stiles shivers when Derek trials his hand up toward his neck and thumbs over the skin there.

Derek’s eyes are dark.

“You like me? You like me _right now?_ ” Derek growls and the sound goes straight to Stiles’ dick, he absolutely broken.

“What do you want me to say Der? That when I thought you’d moved back here without telling me and you’d had a family that I was completely gutted? I was happy for you all the same because I only ever wanted for you to be happy, but I was so unattractively _jealous_ because I’d always wanted you to be happy with _me_? What about that when I held Ray for the first time and I thought she was yours, a tiny part of me wished she was mine too, because you’re so incredible with her? I think you’re amazing Der. You’re kind to my Dad, you keep buying me lunch, you looked super hot wearing my shirt. You’re just letting me keep going huh? Great. What do you want from _me_ Der?” Stiles says a little desperately.

Between one breath and the next Derek’s lips are on his, tongue in his mouth and Stiles would have fallen on his ass on his dad’s front lawn if Derek hadn’t grabbed him round the middle, one large hand a glorious and steadying pressure at his waist, the other on his jaw tilting his head back.

Derek pulls back his mouth reluctantly after a moment, pressing his lips softly to Stiles’ once more, then again, but he doesn’t let him go anywhere else, nostrils flaring wildly and pupils blown. 

“You... that. That’s what I want from you. All of that,” Derek licks his lips and although there’s a rumbling coming from his chest, Stiles knows he’s happy.

“Oh wow. That was... yeah, let’s do that again,” Stiles hums breathlessly and he fists a hand in the front of Derek’s Henley and drags him back in.

This time Stiles gets a hand in Derek’s hair, like he’s wanted to since he styled him at the Stillinski sink salon before his interview and he tugs, eliciting an indecent groan from Derek.

Stiles licks his way into Derek’s mouth, nibbling on his lower lip and tugging his head back, deepening the kiss and it’s hot, quick and very dirty for a first make out session.

Derek whimpers and presses against him so Stiles punctuates his kisses by getting a hand between them and dragging his knuckles up Derek’s happy trail, bunching his shirt up.

Derek snarls and moves them so they’re pressed against the side of the porch and the friction is so much better because when he rolls his hips into Stiles’ this time, the firm weight against Stiles’ back means he can feel _everything_ that Derek’s offering at his front.

Derek kisses down his neck but he stops abruptly, pulling back a little and Stiles whines before he realises why Derek’s stopped.

Derek reaches out to tug on Stiles’ collar revealing just below his collarbone and the bandage there.

“What the hell is that?” Derek growls.

“Oh. I got bit last week on a case. No big deal. It’s pretty much healed, the skin’s just a little red so I didn’t want my T-shirt to irritate it,” Stiles fingers the edge of the bandage and it’s true. 

He probably wouldn’t have even worn a fresh bandage tomorrow.

“Let me see,” Derek demands.

Stiles rolls his eyes but tugs up the corner of the bandage none the less. He’s hoping if he gives in to Derek, they can get back to the making out more quickly.

Derek sniffs at the newly healed skin at his neck.

“That might scar. What bit you?” Derek asks, vibrating with anger.

Derek’s fingers ghosting over his sensitive skin isn’t helping his body heat situation and he can feel his flush move from his face down his chest.

Stiles tugs his collar back up a little self consciously and Derek’s face softens.

Derek looks like he’s still waiting for an answer.

“Ghoul. Fucker nearly had me, but I torched it,” Stiles shrugs.

It had been a closer call than he wanted to admit.

He hasn’t even told his dad the full story.

“I really, really don’t like that. I don’t like that you got hurt and none of us were there,” Derek growls but it sounds more pained than angry, “that _I_ wasn’t there.”

“I can take care of myself,” Stiles shrugs.

“I don’t want you to have to,” Derek frowns.

“Yeah big guy? You gonna take good care of me?” Stiles plays dirty, blinking up from under his dark lashes as he rolls his hips into Derek. 

He proceeds to put his efforts into marking Derek’s neck and he sets his mouth over the skin there, revelling in the way Derek melts into him.

The broken noises Derek makes as he bites and nips him will give him spank bank material for the rest of his days, he’s sure, but just like that Derek’s stepping back and putting some real distance between them.

“What the...” Stiles begins just as his Dad and Melissa round the corner to the driveway, laughing, arm in arm.

His dad stops at the sight in front of him, eyes narrowed.

Stiles feels sure his blush can be seen from space.

“Evening sir,” Derek hold a hand up in greeting to them, “Hi Melissa.”

Stiles notices with some satisfaction that Derek’s carefully angling himself sideways, so as not to give them a head on view of the front of his jeans.

“Boys,” Mel nods to them, smirk evident on her face as they walk past them.

“Son. You’ve got a little something on your neck,” the Sheriff clips Stiles around the back of the head as he goes past him into the house.

Stiles grabs at his neck, thinking the bandage isn’t covered up.

“I was talking to Derek, not you,” John calls out behind him, “Mrs. Chesterfield is watching you both by the way, I can see her through her upstairs window from across the street, just in case you both get any ideas. Derek, I don’t have to remind you I own a gun do I? There are some things I do not need to know about.”

Derek looks like he wants the ground to open him up and he covers his face with his hands and rubs his own neck guiltily, much to Stiles’ glee.

Derek finally wanders closer when the Sheriff shuts the front door.

“I’ve seen you heal bullet wounds in less than sixty seconds and you couldn’t heal a little hickey,” Stiles frowns, adjusting himself in his pants.

Derek crowds into him again and places a light kiss on his mouth, soft and sweet before glancing up at Mrs. Chesterfield’s house.

“You’re dad’s not wrong. She is staring,” Derek chuckles, “and I didn’t want to heal it. I... like it. I like you marking me up.”

“Fuck. That’s hot. Ok, hear me out, I could blow you right here, give the old girl a show,” Stiles offers.

Derek chokes.

“You’re going to kill me,” he glares, “and probably Mrs. Chesterfield too. She looks about a hundred years old.”

“What a way to go though eh,” Stiles laughs and runs his hands through his hair, “So, what now?”

“Go out with me,” Derek says earnestly and that’s not at all what Stiles was expecting. 

He always pictured him and Derek getting together in an explosive mess of heat, bodily fluids and anger. Not a date.

“Ok,” Stiles answers quickly, nodding enthusiastically.

“Yeah?” Derek says and there’s a ridiculously pleased smile his face that Stiles hasn’t really seen before but he wants to put it there continuously, probably every single day for the rest of their lives.

“Yeah. Definitely,” Stiles nods grinning, helplessly mirroring him.

“Ok. That’s good,” Derek leans in and kisses him slowly, as if he’s reluctant to back off.

“I’m off work tomorrow. I could pick you up around seven?” Derek murmurs against his lips.

“Can you text me to remind me, it’s hard to think when you keep putting your tongue in my mouth,” Stiles complains between lingering kisses.

“Imagine how hard it will be to think when my tongue is other places,” Derek licks the skin under his jaw.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans.

Derek pulls off after sniffing him one last time, seemingly satisfied with reducing Stiles to a puddle of goo.

He shrugs out of his leather jacket and hands it to Stiles.

“Wear this for a bit tonight. I know it’s a bit warm, but I like it when you smell like me,” Derek tells him.

“I really didn’t think you being all grr Alpha would do it for me, but alas, my dick is going to fall off right now,” Stiles chokes, but he shrugs the jacket on anyways.

Derek’s eyes flash red knowingly and he nods, pleased.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then Stiles,” Derek smoulders again and he walks away.

Is there a class for that? Can you learn how to smoulder?

“I can’t fucking wait,” Stiles sighs like he’s in a rom com, allowing his head to thump back against the porch.

He waves at Mrs. Chesterfield and he chuckles when she yanks her blinds closed.

—————

Stiles is a complete mess the next day.

He wakes up at seven in the morning with a panicked start and calls Derek immediately. It rings twice before Derek picks up, sounding very sleepy, voice rough.

“Stiles.” Derek offers on answering.

“You said seven. Did you mean am or pm? I was just worried ya know, I didn’t want to miss our date. Oh my god. Haha. Our date. Me and you. Going on a date,” Stiles launches into a tirade.

“Pm. Obviously. Who goes on a date at seven in the morning?” Stiles can hear Derek’s sheets rustle and he must be rolling over.

Note to self, he thinks looking down at his dick which is twitching interestedly at the thought; stop thinking about Derek Hale in bed.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t want to miss it,” Stiles sighs and flops back down into his pillows. 

Way to be cool Stiles.

“I’d have woken you up if you’d slept through it, don’t worry,” Derek offers and Stiles can hear the smile on his voice, “I don’t know if you’re aware but I’m really good at climbing in through bedroom windows. Yours especially.”

“Oh haha. Sorry. I panicked. Did you sleep well?” Stiles says and he clenches his hand to stop it travelling under his boxers, to where he wants it to go.

“Yeah. Really well,” Derek hums.

“I didn’t. I kept waking up. It was like Christmas Eve, I think I’m too excited for today,” Stiles chuckles, offering honestly.

“You should go back to sleep or you’ll be too tired later,” Derek tells him quietly.

“Yeah? You got big plans for me big guy?” Stiles chuckles.

“Yes.” Derek says bluntly.

“Oh. That’s cool. Well I’ll try and get another few hours shut eye. Any tips for a restful slumber, seeing as you’re the expert?” Stiles mumbles into the phone.

“I don’t know. After I got home last night, I had a nice long shower and jerked myself off really slowly, imagining you were there with me, touching me. I came so hard I shifted. Cora knocked on the door to ask if I’d fallen over or something because I was in there so long,” Derek says nonchalantly.

“Fuck,” Stiles gives up and shoves a hand down his boxers and grips his dick.

He goes from semi erect to baseball bat hard in seconds, Derek’s voice the best masturbation stimulation he’s ever had and he groans.

“Are you doing it _right now_?” Derek whimpers incredulously.

“Fuck yeah I am, what do you expect putting a visual like that in my head?” Stiles quickens his pace as he works his pre come down his length, “this isn’t going to last long to be honest, not picturing you like that. Did you imagine fucking me Der? Did you picture me fucking you? Bet you’d look so good like that, all wet, bent over for me,” Stiles grunts.

He jams the phone to his ear and grabs his lube, biting his lip on a groan when he lets the cold slick coat his dick.

It sounds wet and sloppy when he resumes and he knows Derek can no doubt hear it.

“Jesus Stiles, let me... yeah, wait for me, just let me.” and Derek let’s out a bone deep sigh that Stiles imagines is him getting his hand on his own dick.

“Der, tell me,” Stiles digs his toes into the mattress, “tell me what you’re doing right now.”

Derek growls in his ear.

“You know what I’m doing,” Derek grunts, “fuck I wish you were here. I want to come on you. Want to come all over you.” 

“Nnghh,” Stiles can feel his orgasm building and he digs his toes into the mattress.

“I want to touch you, everywhere,” Derek growls.

“Der please,” Stiles begs.

“Come for me Stiles. Come for me and know that next time you come it will be with my mouth on you,” Derek demands.

And Stiles, bless his obedient dick, does.

He moans his way through his orgasm, come spilling over his frantically working fist, Derek’s name on his lips.

He hears Derek’s bitten off shout and a snarl as he follows him, seconds later, breath coming heavy down the line.

“That. Was. The best,” Stiles sighs happily.

“For you maybe. I’ve got come in my beard,” Derek grumbles sounding pissed off, “and I never come that quickly. Just in case you were wondering.”

“Don’t front. It’s ok if you find me irresistible,” Stiles laughs, using his T-shirt to clean off his hand.

“I do,” Derek sighs sincerely, as if it’s painful to admit, but true nonetheless.

“Oh. Well good. Me too. I mean. I really want you too. Obviously,” Stiles smiles at the phone.

“Good. I have to go, I can hear Ray waking up and Cora was up half the night with her. I’m going to let her sleep in this morning. Now go to sleep,” Derek tells him.

“Ok. Could you be anymore perfect by the way? I’ll see you later,” Stiles buries his head in his pillow, sated and sleepy all of a sudden.

“I can’t fucking wait,” Derek says softly, echoing his words from the previous night with a small laugh.

—————

“Hello Derek,” Sheriff Stilinski opens the door just as Derek’s about to knock, “you’re early.”

Derek startles. With all of his nerves and worries about tonight, facing his boss wasn’t supposed to be one of them.

“Hello Sir. I thought you were working the night shift?” Derek blurts, holding his hand out in greeting.

The Sheriff eyes it.

“I was. I got Lois to cover for me. I wanted to be here,” The Sheriff says.

Derek takes his hand back and tucks it in his pocket.

“We’re a little past hand shakes don’t you think Son,” The Sheriff narrows his eyes at him.

Derek tries not to look miserable. The Sheriff has been so nice and supportive since he’s been back, maybe wanting to date his only son is the limit to the man’s good nature.

“Oh for heavens sake,” the Sheriff steps outside and envelops him in a big hug.

Derek freezes and pats the older man awkwardly on the back until he lets him go.

The Sheriff keeps a tight grip on his shoulder.

“Good. Right. So call me John, you can stop with that Sir crap, I’ve told you a hundred times,” John smiles kindly at him.

“Yes John,” Derek offers a small smile, still nervous.

“You look like you’re about to puke,” John squeezes his shoulder.

“I just really like him. And I’m scared I’m going to mess it up. Again,” Derek says, more honest than he probably means to be.

“Oh kid. If you’d seen him today, you’d know you have absolutely nothing to worry about. He went to the store and bought a whole new outfit, spent forty five minutes in the shower doing god knows what and now he’s singing Bohemian rhapsody, the high _and_ low parts and I’d be lying if I said it was the first time he’s ran through the whole song in the past hour. I’d be lying if I said it’s the fifth time he’s ran through it,” John winks at him.

Derek chuckles a little and relaxes just as he hears Stiles barrel down the stairs singing at the top of his lungs.

“Easy come! Easy go! Will you let me goooooooo OHMYGOD,” Stiles stops on the stairs as he clocks the open doorway and Derek and his dad’s amused faces.

He walks calmly down the rest of the steps and leans an elbow on the doorframe, casual as he can manage.

“Hey Derek. Sup,” he says coolly.

Derek snorts.

John rolls his eyes.

“That’s my cue. If you find him funny Son, there’s no help for you,” he pats Derek once more and walks off, “have fun tonight boys.”

“So, you’re early,” Stiles offers, “keen bean.”

“I thought you’d probably be ready if you were half as excited as you were this morning,” Derek chuckles.

“You have no idea dude. I’ve been ready since three,” Stiles smirks, grabbing his keys.

“You don’t need your keys, I’ve got my car,” Derek offers.

“No way, you brought the Camaro? Sweet,” Stiles grabs a jacket from the hook, _Derek’s_ jacket to be more precise.

Stiles shuts the door behind him and before he can go any further Derek grabs him and gives him a soft and lingering kiss.

When he pulls back Stiles feels dumbstruck.

“I really hope that never gets old,” Stiles touches his mouth as if chasing the feel of Derek. 

Derek rakes his eyes over him.

“You look really nice,” Derek tells him and takes his hand, “like really, really nice.”

“Oh these old things?” Stiles plucks at his brand new white Ralph Lauren t-shirt and he smooths his hands down his new skinny Levi’s, “they were just lying in my old wardrobe, lucky they still fit.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at the blatant lie.

“Fine. I may have gone shopping. Lydia sent me a pre approved list of brands I was allowed to buy and these were the cheapest things on there,” Stiles grimaces.

Derek tries not to bristle at the mention of Lydia.

“Well, you look really good,” Derek tells him again, eyes darkening.

“Thanks. You too. Well you always look great, but yeah, extra great tonight!” Stiles offers, swallowing at the look in Derek’s eyes.

Derek leads them down the path to where he’s parked.

“What the hell is that?” Stiles says when he notices the maroon monstrosity at the end of the drive.

“It’s a Toyota,” Derek shrugs, not bothered.

“It’s not very sexy,” Stiles tells him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I needed to impress you,” Derek opens the passenger door for him.

“How romantic,” Stiles climbs in, “don’t think chivalry will distract me from the fact you have a soccer mom car.”

Derek gets in himself.

“It’s Cora’s. For the baby seat. I still have the Camaro. Both the Original and the Chevy. They’re in the garage under the loft,” Derek tells him.

“Oh thank god. I was about to call this whole thing off,” Stiles tells him.

Derek starts the car and rests his spare hand on Stiles’ thigh.

“Oh?” Derek says, trailing his fingers higher as he pulls the car away, “you sure about that?”

Stiles grabs his hand.

“If you actually want to go on a date, you should probably not touch me,” he warns, “I will strip right here. Do not test me Derek.”

Derek pulls his hand back with a chuckle.

The conversation flows effortlessly in the car and Stiles fills Derek in on how busy work has been and Derek tells him all about how the renovations in the loft building are going.

Derek tells him how he’s even thinking about renting out the bottom floors as some office space, putting the income in savings for Ray.

Stiles sits up when they’ve been driving for about an hour -he has made approximately five kidnapping jokes by that point- and Derek pulls off onto to a hidden side road.

“Dude, where are we going?” Stiles seems more interested now and he tries to peer through the trees.

The foliage opens suddenly revealing a little beach front and the sea in the distance. The sun just setting bounces off the water and casts an orange glow over everything in sight

“Wow, where are we?” Stiles sounds awed.

Derek drives to a small car park and he leads him around the front of some buildings where there are a few tables lit up by candlelight and the warm sea air reaches them. 

They’re so close to the sea front that Stiles can see and hear the waves.

Soft classical music is playing and though the restaurant is immaculate, it doesn’t make Stiles feel uncomfortable or out of place. It’s homely, not snooty.

A few couples glance up as they come in, but they go back to their food just as fast.

“It’s just this little Italian restaurant that my parents used to go to. It’s not very well known, but the food is incredible,” Derek offers, hand low on Stiles’ back.

He waves to a waiter who makes his way over to them.

“Mr Hale. Welcome. I’ve got your table ready for you and your guest,” Stiles follows the guy to the furthest corner of the outside restaurant seating area, away from other patrons.

Long billowing white drapes offer some privacy from the surrounding diners and there are a few candles placed around the cutlery.

“Well this is just incredible,” Stiles says when he’s sat down and the waiter’s gone to fetch them some water.

Stiles shoulders out of Derek’s jacket, the night still warm and Derek pulls his chair from the other side of the table to sit closer to him.

“Yeah? I wasn’t sure if you were going to want to do something cheesy like go bowling or the cinema,” Derek smiles.

“Dude, good food and good company. Perfect date,” Stiles grins.

“Well, maybe you should wait until the end to give your review,” Derek chuckles taking his hand, thumb stroking the back of it.

Stiles can feel his heart pounding at the casual touch and Derek seems to sense it.

“I really don’t need to,” Stiles smiles at him and Derek ducks his head, obviously pleased.

The waiter brings them back some bread and olives to snack on and predictably, Stiles eats too much of the appetisers and he can barely manage a main course. 

They end up splitting a pizza with a side of Italian chopped salad and the food is so incredible, Stiles waxes poetic about it the entire time.

They get into a pretend fight with breadsticks and Stiles is doubled over laughing by the time the waiter brings them the bill.

Derek pays without even letting Stiles look at it and they take a walk along the beach. 

The moon lights the way now and they carry their shoes, cold sand between their toes as they walk toward the water.

Stiles sits back on the sand a while from the water’s edge and he leans back on his hands, eyes closed when Derek comes to sit next to him.

He breathes in the air, feeling relaxed in a way that he hasn’t in years.

When he opens his eyes, Derek’s looking at him, expression unreadable.

“What are you thinking?” Stiles shuffles to face him, crossing his legs with difficulty. 

Damned skinny Levi’s.

Derek looks away toward the water.

“That I wish I’d stayed with you six years ago,” Derek says quietly.

That wasn’t what Stiles was expecting and the honestly of it makes him quiet for a few moments.

“Oh. Why er... Why did you leave?” Stiles asks, afraid of the answer.

He’s hoping he didn’t push Derek for something he wasn’t ready for at the time. He hopes he didn’t leave due to him.

“Honestly?” Derek asks, bringing his eyes back to him.

“Yeah. Tell me,” Stiles needs to know. 

Truthfully, it’s eaten him alive for years. He used to be so angry about it but now he’s just resigned.

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your chance to be happy with Lydia,” Derek grits his teeth and says in a rush.

Stiles blinks.

“What do you mean?” Stiles frowns.

“You hadn’t been together long. You were young and I had feelings for you, but I wasn’t going to be able to make you happy then, not like Lydia could have,” Derek shrugs, as if he’s accepted it, “I remember knowing for certain the night before I left what I had to do. We’d gotten closer and I was finding it harder and harder being around you and not saying anything. I remember we were on my couch and I’d been just staring at you watching that stupid movie for like an hour, just watching you laugh and I knew I was so fucked.” 

“I remember that night,” Stiles frowns, but he didn’t think Derek had felt like that.

“I was going to kiss you. I wanted to, so badly you don’t even know. Then Lydia text you and it was the wake up I needed. I was four years older than you. You loved someone else, you had a girlfriend and I wasn’t going to complicate it for you,” Derek says softly, looking all the world like he thinks he did Stiles a favour.

Stiles is stunned into silence.

For about five seconds.

“You self sacrificing bastard.” Stiles jerks his hand back.

Derek looks up in alarm.

“We’d broken up by then! We were together for two minutes. I _never_ felt for her what I felt... what I felt for... oh fuck it, what I felt for you! That night has haunted me for six fucking years, wondering what I did to push you away. I thought you left because the idea of us repulsed you or something!” Stiles blurts, “I can’t believe you thought I’d be cuddling up with you like that if I had a girlfriend!”

Derek looks horrified and he goes to open his mouth.

“No. My turn. Be quiet. Do you know what Derek? We are not arguing about this. I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen years old and we’ve wasted so much time, I can’t believe you,” Stiles frowns and he stands up, Derek scrabbling after him.

“You’re in love with me?” Derek looks like Stiles has just hit him upside the head with a two by four.

“Of course that’s what you’d take from that, I’m so mad at oomph...” Derek cuts him off with a hard press of his mouth and it’s desperate, frantic and everything Stiles had imagined Derek would kiss like when they were younger.

“I love you too.” Derek gets out in between trying to molest Stiles’ tonsils with his tongue.

“Shit. Really?” Stiles grins.

“Yeah. Really.” Derek looks frantic.

Derek begins to tug him back up the beach toward the car park in the distance.

“Where are we going?” Stiles has to jog to keep pace.

“My place,” Derek grunts and shoves his feet back in his sneakers as they reach the car, not bothering to lace them.

Stiles forgoes his shoes altogether, instead throws his in the footwell of the passenger side.

“Won’t Cora be there? And Ray?” Stiles asks.

“No.” Derek drives just on the speed limit and by the time they’re back in Beacon Hills, Stiles is going out of his mind. 

His dick’s been solid since the beach and he adjusts himself as Derek pulls into a parking space outside the loft building. 

Derek eyes his crotch hungrily and slaps his hand away to palm him instead.

“Fuck,” Stiles chokes and let’s his head lean back in the passenger seat.

“Lets go,” Derek demands, leaning over him to open the door. 

They spill up the stair way stopping on what feels like every step to make out and touch each other, and by the time they have one level to go, Stiles is half out of his mind.

Derek doesn’t head up the final flights of stairs but instead he opens a door leading to an apartment.

“I thought you were renovating the loft?” Stiles asks, walking in behind him curiously.

He looks around at the spacious and furnished apartment. It’s nice. Really nice.

“For Cora and Ray. I’m down here now. Didn’t like the loft much anyways. Too many bad memories,” Derek offers, “plus Cora and I need some of our own privacy. I sleep upstairs around my nights and days off to give Cora some help with Ray, but otherwise, I’m down here.” 

Derek throws his keys on a table, eyes dark as he stalks to where Stiles is dumping his things on the couch.

Derek backs him up into it so that Stiles has to sit down, and Derek kneels on the floor between his legs.

“Can I?” Derek asks, running his broad palms up Stiles’ denim clad thighs.

“Anything,” Stiles says earnestly, cupping Derek’s stubbled jaw.

Derek’s look goes soft as he works Stiles’ belt open and Stiles lifts up for Derek to tug his jeans down and off his legs.

When he’s just left sitting in his black boxer shorts, Derek seems to be mesmerised.

Stiles can see the outline of his own dick and Derek, without preamble, presses his face underneath Stiles’ balls and he just _inhales_.

“Holy shit,” Stiles bucks but Derek pins him down as he begins to pull Stiles’ boxers down and over his dick.

Derek kneels on them, trapping Stiles’ ankles together and his eyes are red when he stares at Stiles’ cut dick, which is generously leaking precome all over his stomach and happy trail.

“Dude,” Stiles whines, gripping himself hard at the base.

“I... I’ve never done this. With a guy,” Derek mumbles, but his eyes never leave Stiles’ dick, captivated.

“That shouldn’t be that hot, but fuck, it really is,” Stiles whimpers giving his dick a stroke, “you don’t have to.” 

“I want to. I really, really want to...” Derek trails off, hand encircling Stiles’ cock.

Derek leans over and in a broad stripe licks a hot stripe up the underside of his dick.

“Fuck,” Stiles slams his eyes shut, knowing if he can see this as well as feel it, he’s going to last about five seconds.

“Look at me,” Derek growls.

“Shit,” Stiles groans but he cards both of his hands into Derek’s hair regardless and he opens his eyes.

Stiles watches as Derek let’s his mouth close over the head of his cock and he feels it in his bones when Derek let’s out a beatific moan around him, as if the taste of Stiles’ dick is the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth.

Derek blows him enthusiastically and takes him deeper and deeper as his confidence grows, probably encouraged by the fact that Stiles is losing his fucking mind underneath him.

He’s edging Stiles toward his orgasm about as fast as Stiles had expected. It’s sensation overload.

Derek’s lack of blow job experience definitely doesn’t translate into lack of skill or knowledge. He uses his teeth, tongue and hands to wreck him and Stiles is shaking with the need to come right before Derek realises it’s in his own power to make him do so.

Derek brings a spit wet finger to Stiles’ tight hole, just feeling him there, applying pressure and slipping just inside as he swallows deep around the head of Stiles cock, eyes watering and throat working. 

Stiles can feel himself right in the back of Derek’s throat. As Derek’s beautiful eyes meet his, peering up from under his dark lashes, mouth stretched and red, that’s what finally does it.

Stiles tugs his hair to try to warn him but Derek frowns and pushes himself down deeper, spit leaking out of his mouth around Stiles’ dick. Stiles comes on a guttural moan, drawn out and intense, legs clenching tight and keeping Derek in place.

Derek rides him out, throat fluttering furiously and his eyes watering until Stiles slumps back on the couch to get his breath back, spent.

Derek moves quickly, stripping off his own jeans and t-shirt as he goes and Stiles has the presence of mind to cup Derek’s glorious ass as he straddles him, yanking his boxers down in the process. He pulls up Stiles’ t-shirt and strips his cock frantically. 

Stiles gets a good, albeit dazed, look at him and he’s thick and uncut and Stiles wants his dick inside him _yesterday_.

Stiles realises he’s talking out loud when Derek replies on a growl.

“Yes, want to fuck you... fuck... need to fuck you later,” Derek kisses him sloppily and Stiles digs his fingers into the flesh of Derek’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart and exposing his hole to the air.

Derek comes on a quiet snarl, teeth set in Stiles’ bottom lip. 

Stiles feels Derek’s come hit his exposed stomach and chest before Derek slumps bodily into him, bracing his hands on Stiles’ shoulders for support.

Stiles strokes his back as Derek mumbles contentedly into his neck, open mouth brushing over his sensitive skin.

“Well that was about as amazing as I always imagined it would be,” Stiles chuckles, not wanting to stop touching him.

“Mmm hmm,” Derek agrees.

“Take me to bed?” Stiles whispers softly to him, because Derek’s making a noise that sounds suspiciously like purring and Stiles is worried he’s going to fall asleep right there.

Derek stands up with an unhappy groan and he pulls his boxers up. He tugs Stiles up with him, stripping him out of his t- shirt, leaving him naked right there next to the couch.

Derek takes a moment to trail his fingers down Stiles’ bare chest, eyes dark and hungry.

Stiles feels like he’s on fire everywhere Derek’s touching him and he feels his spent dick give a valiant twitch.

Derek leads him to the bedroom by his hand and the room is quiet and private and Derek steps out of his boxers, leaving them on the floor.

Stiles can see the room is lined with bookshelves floor to ceiling when Derek flicks on a lamp, which he dims immediately when Stiles winces at the sudden brightness.

Derek looks a little unsure all of a sudden and Stiles is struck with the thought that Derek might be nervous. 

In all his scenarios, all the times he’s pictured this, Derek was the one taking, demanding something from him.

The reality couldn’t be further from the truth and it delights and excites him.

Stiles encourages Derek to lay on the bed, on his stomach. Derek goes willingly, ridiculously pliant after his orgasm.

“Der,” Stiles murmurs as he crawls up the bed after him, stroking up the backs of his thighs as he goes.

“Yeah,” Derek exhales, face in his pillow.

“Can I?” Stiles let’s his hands trail over his ass, “Can I taste you?”

Stiles palms his cheeks so Derek will know exactly what he means.

Derek rocks his hips into the bed with a broken little moan.

“Please,” Derek murmurs.

Stiles makes room for himself between Derek’s thighs and he pulls him apart to just look, fascinated. Despite his bravado, he’s never done this before either. 

His experience with guys has been limited to the odd hand job, never wanting to go further, the primary need to just get off quickly

But seeing Derek’s puckered pink entrance, dusted with dark hair, where no ones ever touched him before, he’s never wanted to put his mouth on anything quite so badly.

He licks a long wet stripe over him, from balls upwards, before pulling back to gauge Derek’s reaction.

Derek’s hands are claws where they’ve got a death grip in his white sheets and he’s trembling.

Stiles rubs a soothing hand over his lower back when Derek pushes his ass up off the mattress, seeking more.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” Derek lisps around fangs.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Stiles moans, “I love seeing you out of control. Out of control for me.”

This time he doesn’t stop. He laps at Derek’s hole like it’s a delicacy, clever tongue working fast and thoroughly. He leaves no part of him unlicked, even mouthing at the back of Derek’s trapped balls, which earns him a desperate whimper.

He finally works the tight ring of muscle open enough that his tongue is slipping steadily in and out of him and Stiles can’t help but groan at how he tastes. It feels so dirty and so good at the same time, he’s never felt this turned on in his entire life.

He can feel his own cock hard again against his stomach and how could it not be with Derek laid out like that in front of him.

He pulls back to slip a finger into Derek, going slow against his tight resistance. Derek grunts when he adds his tongue again and licks slowly around his finger, before adding the tip of another.

He could get lost in this, in the taste and feeling of Derek, surrounded by the beautiful little noises he makes.

Before long, Derek’s coiled tight, muscles contract under Stiles’ attention as he rocks back onto Stiles’ fingers.

“More,” Derek demands, hips working down into the bed, hands still clasped in his sheets.

It’s everything for Stiles to pull up and lean over him instead, still working his fingers inside of him.

He plasters himself across Derek’s back, pinning him down. He feels his bare cock slip between Derek’s cheeks where his hand is trapped and he removes his fingers to hold him open, leaning back a little so he can see.

He watches in awe as he rubs his cock head over Derek’s spit wet hole, catching on his rim.

“Fuck. Stiles I’m going to come,” Derek groans and he gets a hand underneath himself as Stiles begins to thrust against him with purpose.

He’s not going to fuck him, not like this, but every time his dick catches and Derek’s hole clenches on his tip, it’s almost as good. Almost.

Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s cheeks, spreading him wider, nudging his leg out and up so he’s spread wide for him.

Stiles knows he’s about to come and he’s holding on so valiantly until Derek reaches back and grabs his hand, entwining their fingers as he comes on a quiet sigh.

Tenderness seems to be the thing that does it for him now, because Stiles comes like he’s on a trigger, dick spurting against Derek’s exposed hole and he gets to watch his come run down over Derek’s balls.

Stiles collapses to the side to try to recover, but he doesn’t let go of Derek’s hand.

He feels Derek’s eyes on him and when he looks over, Derek’s got one eye open, face still half smooshed into his sheets and his hair is a total mess. In his opinion, Derek’s never looked so good.

“Hey handsome,” Stiles smiles, throat a little rough.

“Speak for yourself,” Derek moans and he rolls onto his side, manhandling Stiles around so he can spoon him, face buried in the back of his neck.

“This will be so gross if we don’t clean up,” Stiles warns.

Derek huffs but he doesn’t make a move, breathing evening out.

Stiles grumbles but he gets out of bed and finds his way to the bathroom, grabbing Derek’s boxer shorts and tugging them on as he goes. He downs a few handfuls of water before taking a quick leak.

He grabs one of Derek’s fancy looking towels and runs it under the warm water from the sink before cleaning himself off. He rinses it off before going back into the bedroom, where Derek looks like he’s nearly asleep.

Stiles moves in behind him and gently mops at the come running down the back of Derek’s thighs and he can’t help but linger around his hole with the towel, fascinated with the fact his come is on Derek Hale’s asshole, dabbing there gently.

Derek growls sleepily when he spends too long there.

“I like it too, but get into fucking bed,” Derek grumps grabbing him and wrestling him over his side.

“Alright alright,” Stiles throws the towel off the bed and he settles back into Derek’s waiting arms.

Derek slings a leg over him pinning him in place and inhales against the back of his head.

“Sniffy wolf,” Stiles mumbles happily, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“Smell really good,” Derek chuffs, placing a kiss just under his ear, “so good.”

“Night Der,” Stiles grins into the pillow, content with Derek’s heavy arm around him.

The steady breathing and lack of reply suggests Derek’s already asleep.

—————

Stiles wakes later to Derek murmuring in his ear and a hard cock digging into his boxer clad ass cheek.

“Wake up,” Derek whispers. 

Stiles feels through the fog of sleep that it might not be the first time he’s said it.

The morning light is grey in the room, sun not quite up and it’s peaceful and warm. 

Stiles never wants to leave.

“Mmm why? It’s still basically night time,” Stiles complains and he tries to snuggle back down.

Derek rocks his hips with purpose and this time, there’s no mistaking his thick dick hard against Stiles’ ass. 

Derek runs the arm that’s not underneath Stiles down his chest and he stops, big hand spread wide on Stiles’ lower abdomen, thumb just inside the waistband of the boxers that Stiles is wearing.

“Because I want to fuck you. I woke up thinking about it, and I wanted to do it. Then I realised you were wearing my boxers and now I _need_ to do it,” Derek rolls into him again and Stiles pushes back.

“Oh fuck, alright I’m awake,” Stiles whimpers, moving to palm his dick but Derek grabs his wrist.

“Don’t touch,” Derek murmurs, “can I finger you?” 

“If you don’t, I might die,” Stiles whines, wriggling back against him.

Derek chuckles.

“That wasn’t a lie. You believed that when you said it,” Derek presses blunt teeth all over the skin of Stiles shoulder before leaning away for a second and rummaging in his nightstand.

Stiles barely has time to mourn the loss before Derek’s yanking down the boxers under the globes of his ass, effectively trapping Stiles’ dick but giving him access to what he wants if his growl is anything to go by.

He doesn’t tease, nor is he unsure, he just presses one lube slick finger against Stiles’ hole, inching his way inside.

He gets a leg between Stiles’, opening him up as he begins to work his thick finger in and out of him.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Derek murmurs in wonder.

Stiles grunts when Derek adds another fast and begins fucking him with two until Stiles literally begs for a third.

“Never done this either. Fuck Derek, not like this, need it to be you,” Stiles bites hard against Derek’s forearm. 

It gets quick and messy, a desperation in the air when Stiles demands he’s loose enough and Derek doesn’t even hesitate before coating his dick with lube and pressing against him.

Stiles whimpers, but Derek holds him open, both of them still on their sides as he inches inside. Derek moves torturously slow but sure, until he’s deep inside him.

Derek finally moves his hand down to Stiles’ dick, still trapped in the boxers and he slips his hand underneath the material and cups him as he starts to fuck him slowly.

“Der you feel so good,” Stiles groans, every time Derek pulls out, tip of his cock catching on Stiles’ hole before pushing back in.

Derek’s answer is to roll him onto his front, dick never leaving his ass and covering him with his body. He begins a sinuous grind down into Stiles, new angle allowing him to drive deeper and faster and he gets one arm around Stiles’ chest. He grabs Stiles’ wrists above him with his other hand.

It’s slow and torturous and the most ridiculously “feelings” filled sex that Stiles has ever had and before long he’s pressing down into the mattress, desperately seeking enough friction to send him over the edge.

Derek gets the hint when Stiles pushes back to meet him harder and Derek allows him the movement so he can wriggle out from under him.

Stiles pushes Derek on his back and he’s looking at him so reverently, so trusting, Stiles can’t look away when he straddles him. He leans back and grips Derek’s dick with one hand and sinks down onto him, thighs bracketing his hips.

Derek throws his head back with a whine, teeth clenched tightly and he grips Stiles’ hips and helps him set his own pace.

Stiles plants his hands on Derek’s firm chest, knowing he can take it and he rides him for all he’s worth, heat almost too much between them.

His breathing is loud in the quiet room and Derek’s soft moans are perfection to him, sounds of skin meeting skin filling the air.

Derek’s fingers bruise into his hips as he rocks him back and forth and then Derek plants his feet on the bed. Derek begins fucking up to meet him hard and Stiles groans as his dick pulses precome between them. Derek’s eyes flash red and he sits up suddenly, still driving inside him.

They’re face to face now, Derek’s arms around him and Stiles’ legs are wrapped around his waist, except now Derek’s dick is buried impossibly deep inside him.

When Derek pushes up into him again using all his strength, Stiles kisses him.

Tongue in Derek’s mouth and Derek’s dick in his ass is how he comes, without a hand on his dick and it’s drawn out and frankly destroying.

Stiles clenches down hard as the shocks of his orgasm drag through him and he has a front row view when he pulls Derek over the edge, as if all he was waiting for was Stiles to come. With a growl, holding him open, hands gripping each of his cheeks, Derek slams home harshly to finish and Stiles feels it when he empties inside him.

Derek buries his head in Stiles’ shoulder, kissing the skin there and breathing him in and neither of them make to move.

When Derek finally meets his eyes they’re still glowing red.

Stiles strokes over his eyebrows and he knows he has a come dumb, dopey smile on his face, but he can’t stop it.

Derek bashfully ducks his head but returns his smile.

“What?” Stiles laughs when Derek keeps sneaking looks at him.

“Nothing. I love you,” Derek says with a soft smile.

“Oh, is that all?” Stiles laughs.

“Yeah. That’s all,” Derek tips him on his back, “breakfast?”

“God you’re amazing. Be careful, I’ll never leave,” Stiles jokes.

Derek looks him dead in the eye.

“Ok...” Derek smiles.

—————

One week later

—————

“How’d Cora rope you into babysitting? I thought I left you in bed a few hours ago. You said you had grand plans with Netflix and my coffee pot,” Derek walks into the coffee shop on his lunch, where he finds Stiles sitting on a play mat in the kid’s corner. Stiles’ back is propped against a horrible purple couch. 

Ray is sitting in Stiles’ lap shrieking with laughter as he tickles her and he plonks her down so she can fill a little cart with play food.

“Hey! Well I was only downstairs I suppose, she saw me as an easy target. I tried to ignore her and have a lie in but she kept shouting through the door that she could hear my breathing,” Stiles chuckles and he helps Ray fill the little cart.

Derek bends down to kiss him quickly and Ray makes a frowny face at him and she claps. She makes grabby hands indicating that she wants Derek to pick her up.

“Der Der, kiss,” She demands and Derek obliges.

“Ok jealous girl,” Derek pecks her on each cheek and on the forehead for good measure until she looks satisfied.

April puts his coffee and a small plate on the table behind them, out of Ray’s reach and Derek nods his thanks at her as she hurries back to serve the lunchtime rush.

“Damn, I’m never going to get used to you in that uniform,” Stiles says seriously, squinting up at him.

“This uniform?” Derek picks up a cookie off his plate and hands it to Ray, “the same one your dad wears?”

“Ew. Don’t ruin it,” Stiles grimaces, “no. Wait, it’s ok, your image has eclipsed my dad’s, I’m good. Continue being all hot and stuff.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“So, I’m heading back tomorrow,” Stiles says casually.

“I know.” Derek’s face is carefully blank but thankfully Stiles can read him like a book. It’s a pained blank.

“You know. Right. So I was thinking...” Stiles begins, prepared to dig and wade through Derek’s man pain to see what he really wants out of this.

Derek pops Ray into a waiting high chair and she goes quietly, Stiles suspects because of the cookie.

“I don't want you to go,” Derek says decidedly, sitting down himself and taking a sip of his coffee, “but I know you have to for work. So I’ll be here. When you come back.”

“Oh,” Stiles gapes at him. 

He gets to his feet and takes the seat next to Derek, putting some play food items on Ray’s high chair shelf.

“What?” Derek chuckles.

“Nothing. I just didn’t know you were going to be... so...” Stiles searches for the word.

“Blunt?” Derek offers, pulling a silly face at Ray.

“No. So open.” Stiles shrugs.

“I don't think I can deny it anymore. And I don’t really want to. I’ve wanted you for a really long time. I’m not giving you up now. For as long as you want me. So, I’ll be here,” Derek eyes him seriously.

“That’s like the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Stiles frowns.

“Why don’t you look happy about it?” Derek laughs.

“Because I don’t want to go! I’ve been thinking about it all week. Longer if I’m honest with myself,” Stiles says truthfully, “I’m tired Der. I love my job but I’m so tired. Being back, with family, with you... it feels right.”

“So what do we do?” Derek hums, “I could visit you. You know that.” 

“I don’t want to do you part time,” Stiles frowns, “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I meant.”

Derek holds his hands up in defence, smile on his face.

Ray generously offers Stiles a piece of half chewed cookie, which he takes and chews on thoughtfully.

“What if I asked my boss if I could base here? I mean, I’ve established a good reputation as an agent. We’ve been talking about setting up an actual field based supernatural division for a while, why not now? What better place than here?” Stiles can feel the idea forming and as he says it, he knows it will work, “Tom doesn’t have family, he can move here temporarily too. We would just need to find the space. My boss doesn’t want us in Washington anyways, he’s secretly ashamed of me but he needs me, I know just how to pitch it to him,” Stiles flails excitedly.

“If you’re serious, I know someone who could give you a good deal on some office space,” Derek grins.

“Really? Downstairs in the loft? That would be awesome,” Stiles nods.

“So you’d be working downstairs from where I live,” Derek sounds pleased with himself. 

“Ooh! Yes! I could get an apartment too, somewhere between you and my Dad!” Now it’s in his head, he’s totally committed.

“Or you could just live with me,” Derek says from behind his mug.

“Yes, or I could just live with... Wait, what?! Are you for real right now? You don’t want your own space? Isn’t it too soon?” Stiles bites his lip.

Derek rolls his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re getting it. I want you in my space. All the time.” Derek grabs his hand and places a kiss to his wrist, taking a less than discreet sniff at his pulse point which inevitably races the second Derek touches him, “All. The. Time. If you want that.”

“Well, ok then,” Stiles leans back in his chair, “I guess I’ll give my boss a call when I drop Ray back to Cora.”

“Good. You do that.” Derek grins at him and drains his coffee.

Derek gets up reluctantly to head back to work.

He bends down to press a lingering kiss on Stiles’ mouth, one that has April wolf whistle over at them.

“You can hush, I still haven’t forgiven you for the cow cupcake incident,” Stiles yells at her.

April has the decency to look chastised and she holds her hands up in defeat.

Ray piles in on the action, bashing Derek in the head with a plastic potato that she’s been playing with.

“Cookie Stile! Cookie Stile and Unca Der Der,” Ray exclaims happily.

Stiles wrestles her out of her chair and into a big hug, smooshed between them both.

“That’s right kiddo. Cookie Stile and Unca Der Der, together forever.”

The look Derek gives him over the top of Ray’s head is his most smouldering yet.

—————

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. It was sweeter than I thought it was gonna be. Much like Stiles’ six pump caramel latte. But it turned out as it meant to I think...
> 
> Your support always keeps me going, you all da bomb! 
> 
> Long live Sterek ❤️


End file.
